Payback
by TriStateCopFan
Summary: Bobby's friend Lewis is threatened by the Masucci crime family, as the result of a long overdue family debt, but Lewis isn't the only target of the Masucci's. Bobby kidnaptorture. CHAPTER 20 BEGINS THE SEQUEL: EVENING THE SCORE.
1. Chapter 1

1**A/N: I own no right, title or vested interest in Mr. Wolf's show or characters, but thank him for sharing**

**PAYBACK**

Wednesday Night - (Thurs. 12:20 a.m.)

Lewis' Auto Body, Long Island City, NY

He loved being his own boss, owning his own business. It afforded him the luxury of making his own hours, taking time off when he wanted to and, his favorite part of all – not having to answer to anyone in higher authority. The rebellion – it was a common trait that he shared with his best friend.

But, being a business owner also came with responsibilities and the ones he hated most were the inventory and bookkeeping –– the tedious tasks that had nothing to do with rebuilding an engine, installing a new tranny with Hurst shifters, or beefing up a '70 Olds Cutlass with a new 12 bolt Dana rear.

He was now paying the price for his procrastination in those mundane chores. It was after midnight on a Wednesday night –well, now actually Thursday morning – the last day of the fiscal quarter when his taxes were due. He had numbers to crunch and, as he sat in the small, cramped office in the back of his garage he could've kicked himself for not keeping up with the paperwork. "No, _this_ part isn't fun, at all," he cursed to himself.

He walked in the dimness to the small fridge in the corner. Some caffeine was just what he needed. The last thing he felt was the icy-cold can of Coke on his fingertips, instantly followed by the jolting pain at the back of his head as he fell to the floor.

xxxxxxxxxxx

It had been another long day at the Major Case Squad. Just as Bobby and Alex had been straightening their desks as quitting time neared, a call came in which kept them occupied at the crime scene and, again, back at the office with the resulting paperwork, for hours. They left the office after 11:00 p.m. and, still feeling 'wound up' decided to share a nightcap at their favorite hang out.

Thursday, 12:25 a.m.

Carucci's Bar and Restaurant

Bobby gulped the last bit of beer from his mug. Alex checked her watch, "Twelve twenty-five," she sighed. I don't know about you, but I'm exhausted. You ready to go?"

"Sure," Bobby said, as he laid money on the table and helped Alex on with her jacket.

"So, you're taking a long weekend, huh?" she asked with a smirk as they made their way to the SUV.

"Yeah," he laughed. "Lewis wants to make the most out of it. He's been looking forward to this all year – we're leaving Friday morning."

"Well, I think it'll be good for _you_ too – hanging out with the guys and getting away from the city for a while."

Actually, Bobby was looking forward to their little getaway. It was time for the gigantic swap meet, car show and the Summer Nationals at Raceway Park so, aside from the time they'd spend at the track, they'd devote just as much time at the Jersey shore — or at least on the boardwalk, hitting all the hot bars and nightclubs between Point Pleasant and Seaside Heights.

He and Alex talked a little more about their newest case, laying their "plan of attack" for the following work day and, before he knew it, he was outside his apartment. He grabbed his leather portfolio from the back seat and swung the door open. "Thanks for the ride; see ya' in the morning."

"Yup, same time," she said with a smile.

"Keep the car doors locked and call me when you get home." He always reminded her, like an overprotective parent, seemingly oblivious to the fact that she was also a gun-carrying member of New York's Finest.

"I will," she assured him.

xxxxxxxxx

Once inside, Bobby tossed his suit jacket over the back of the sofa and walked to the kitchen counter as he thumbed through his mail; the usual bills from AmEx, Verizon and ConEd. Just as he noticed the digital clock on his microwave turn to "1:00," his telephone rang. He grabbed it on the first ring, already smiling, "Hi, you home safe?"

There was a hesitancy. "Bobby — it's Lewis."

"Lewis, what's wrong?" It wasn't too out of the ordinary for Lewis to call Bobby at the late hour, but Bobby had immediately detected the strain in his voice. "Where _are_ you?"

"I'm at the shop – I, I think my ribs 're broken — they, they knocked me out and when I came to, they were beatin' on me..."

"Lewis, stay right there. I'm gonna' call the precinct closest to you and get a squad car and an ambulance there."

"No! Bobby, no! No cops – they said they'd kill me."

"Okay, okay ... just sit tight. Do you know who they were? What did they say?"

"Two big guys, I dunno', I've never seen 'em before. They kept saying something about 'payback' and they're gonna' get what they're owed — it, it was _crazy_ Bobby, I didn't know what the hell they were talkin' about."

"Did they call each other by name?"

"No, no...the one guy...when they were leaving, he said something like 'Mr. DeMarco'...no, um, yeah, that's was it, 'Mr. DeMarco's associates will be in touch'."

Bobby was already taking notes. "Lewis, if you're bleeding anywhere or the pain's too bad, just call an ambulance, okay?"

"I'm not bleeding — just my nose was, but it's okay."

"All right, just stay put. I'll be there as soon as I can — we've gotta' at least get ya' checked out at the emergency room."

"Okay – try to hurry."

Bobby's call waiting had beeped while he was on the phone; he knew it was Alex's call he missed. He was pressing her number on the speed dial the instant he hung up with Lewis, with possible scenarios already racing through his mind – none of them good. He didn't want to panic Lewis any further – at least not until he got there in person, but Bobby, Alex and the Major Case Squad, in general, were _very_ familiar with the name 'DeMarco.' Carmine DeMarco – the newest "Captain" in the Masucci crime family.

When Alex answered the phone, Bobby heard the teasing sarcasm in her voice. "Real nice, Bobby; you make me call you and then don't pick up the phone."

She didn't expect his response. He was serious, all business. "Eames. How quick can you get back here?"

"What? Did _you_ get a call? I didn't get called in yet."

"It's Lewis – he's in trouble. I'll fill ya' in on the way out to his place."

"Long Island?"

"Eames!"

"I'll be right there. Wait outside."

Bobby grabbed his gun, jacket and portfolio and headed back out the door. He rubbed his hand through his hair and let out a sigh, as he worried for his friend, "What the _hell_ did Lewis get himself into now?"

END Chapter One


	2. Chapter 2

1**_PAYBACK_**

**Chapter Two**

**Thursday - 1:20 a.m.**

The roar of the engine and squealing tires as the SUV rounded the corner alerted Bobby to Alex's arrival. He trotted down the front steps of his apartment building and jumped in. Alex looked concerned and curious – Bobby, concerned and impatient.

"You remember the way, right?" he asked.

"Yeah. What's going on?"

"Lewis was workin' late at the garage. Next thing he knows, he gets jumped by two goons – they knock him out, rough him up – ya' know, work him over a little."

"Has he mentioned anything recently? I mean, has he seemed 'edgy' – like he's in some sorta' trouble?"

"Nah – he's just Lewis – you know how he is. Anyway, they get done workin' 'im over and as they're leavin' one of the guys says "Mr. DeMarco's associates will be in touch."

Alex shot him a sideways glace, eyebrows raised.

"Exactly." Bobby understood Alex's thinking. She was just as curious as to how Lewis could get mixed up with _anything_ having to do with the Misucci's.

"How bad's he hurt?"

"Bloody nose, broken ribs, maybe. He sounded pretty shaken up when I talked to him."

Alex just nodded.

"Oh, and they said they'd kill him if he called the cops," Bobby added.

She hit the gas pedal harder.

xxxxxxxx

**Thursday, 1:30 a.m.**

**Vincenzo's Restaurant - Brooklyn**

Carmine DeMarco was a handsome man, in his late forties; taller than average, with an athletic build. His classic Roman features were perfectly accented by his wavy black hair – always meticulously groomed. DeMarco relished everything his life of crime had garnered. His endless sources of 'dirty,' ill-gotten money afforded him a wealth of material luxuries: designer suits, imported cigars, the best, most expensive wines and liquors to accompany his fine dining, expensive automobiles. There was never a shortage of beautiful women surrounding him, vying for his attentions. But the thing he loved most was power — and his recent "promotion" within the ranks of the Misucci crime syndicate had increased _that_ tenfold. He was on top of the world.

He sat at the private, corner table always reserved for him and his entourage. The restaurant had closed to regular customers hours before and it was now, in the wee hours of the morning that DeMarco preferred to conduct his business. His body guards heard the knock at the kitchen's back door and, although the proper 'signal' had been tapped out, drew their weapons before opening.

"Mr. DeMarco's been waiting for you," the larger guard said as he turned to lead the way.

One guard led the way, escorting the two large men back through the kitchen into the restaurant, as the second guard followed behind them. Once at DeMarco's table, they stood silent until he addressed them. Slowly sipping, then placing his wine glass down, he surveyed the men.

"You've taken care of your assignment?"

The two henchmen traded a nervous glance. The bigger one spoke. "It's taken care of. It wasn't exactly according to plan, but the job got done."

"You didn't have my permission to improvise," DeMarco flatly said. "Tell me. Now."

The large man shifted nervously. "We got there a little after midnight. We were gonna' just trash the place — start bustin' things up, like you told us, then we heard a noise. We, umm, we didn't expect anybody to be there that late."

DeMarco glared at them.

The smaller thug finally spoke. "We didn't hurt him bad, Mr. DeMarco, sir...we jus— "

DeMarco's hand shot up in a halting motion. "My instructions to you were to break in and trash the place – just to send my little friend Lewis a message. You were supposed to get in and get out – quickly. I didn't authorize any strong-arm techniques. If that's what I had wanted, do you actually think I would've sent you two idiots? I would've sent professionals."

The men stood, silent, nervous, watching at DeMarco took another drink of his wine. His eyes were cold, like black marbles. He could sense their nervousness. He knew there was more to the story.

"If you have something to add, you'd better say it now," he warned them.

The big man shifted his weight from leg to leg. Apparently, his small accomplice couldn't find the courage to speak up. "We, umm, we told him not to call the cops or we'd kill him and, um, we—um, Vinny here told him that your associates would be in touch."

"You mentioned my _name_?" DeMarco asked with disbelief.

The small man, Vinny, spoke up, almost whining his explanation. "We just wanted to threaten him, Mr. DeMarco – make sure he got the message. I told him 'Mr. DeMarco's associates will be in touch', then we left."

DeMarco leaned back in his chair, letting out a sigh of frustration at their incompetence. "Get out of here."

Each of the men forced a small smile, happy that the confrontation was over, stumbling over their words and their feet as they backed away from the table. "Thank you, Mr. DeMarco, thank you — good night," they mumbled and retreated back through the heavy, swinging kitchen doors.

DeMarco sat forward and lit a cigar, the reflection of the flame from the lighter dancing in the pupils of his eyes. He sat back in his chair and nodded the "go ahead" at two of his guards. They understood his wordless instructions completely. They turned and, drawing their weapons, followed the incompetent duo into the back ally.

xxxxxxxx

**2:00 a.m.**

**Lewis' Body Shop**

When they reached approximately a block away from Lewis' garage, Alex turned off the headlights and maneuvered the SUV down the narrow street, slowing pulling to a stop in the ally next to the building. Glancing around to make sure no one was watching, they quietly exited the vehicle and walked to the side door, finding the lock broken. Bobby and Alex each drew their guns and slowly pushed the door open. They walked towards the back, to Lewis' office.

"Lewis? It's Bobby," he announced, not wanting to alarm his friend.

Lewis appeared in the doorway, a crowbar at the ready in one hand, the other hand holding a cold can of Coke that he was pressing against the swollen bruise on his cheek.

Bobby holstered his gun and strode over to Lewis, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "You all right, man?"

Lewis nodded. "Kinda' just sore, now," he said, gingerly rubbing a hand over his ribs. "Hi, Alex," he said, managing a smile.

Alex walked towards Bobby and Lewis and the three of them went back into the office, where the light was better. They both tried to get a better look at the damage done to their friend. Bobby was already asking questions and Alex immediately took charge of the "nursing" ministrations, wetting some paper towels with warm, soapy water and attending to the scrapes and dried blood on Lewis' cheek and under his nose. She tugged on Lewis' shirt, "Let's have a look at those ribs," she instructed, more than asked.

By the time they were done discussing the night's events approximately an hour later, Bobby and Alex had already formulated a plan – subject, of course, to Captain Deakins' approval. They didn't expect too much of an argument from him, since catching and locking up anyone in the Misucci family would put another feather in his cap.

Having Lewis wear a wire or 'bugging' the garage wasn't the way to go about _this_ operation. That'd be too dangerous to Lewis, anyway. They needed somebody on the inside – an extra set of eyes and ears on the scene for when DeMarco's "associates" showed up the next time. Alex was actually surprised, even though she agreed with the reasoning, when Bobby eliminated himself from the job. He'd be too recognizable. His picture had been all over the TV and newspapers during the last round of Misucci arrests and trial testimony. Anybody in the Misucci gang would spot him in a second.

"You sure you don't wanna' go to the hospital, get checked out?" Alex asked.

"I'm all right. I just want a hot shower and some sleep," Lewis assured her.

"We're gonna' follow you home, just to make sure you get there all right," Bobby advised, his hand on Lewis' shoulder as they existed the garage.

"You be real careful Lewis. We still don't know why you were attacked – we still don't know why the Misucci's have it in for ya'," he warned his friend, his voice full of concern.

Despite the aches in his side and on his jaw, Lewis was grinning as he got into his car. Alex had hopped back into the driver's seat of the SUV.

Bobby looked at his friend, worry furrowing his brow. "This is serious, Lewis. What are you smiling at?"

Lewis tilted his head in Alex's direction, his smile growing even broader. "She's gonna' look _hot_ in coveralls," he joked as he revved the engine and drove off.

END Chapt. Two


	3. Chapter 3

1**PAYBACK**

_**Chapter Three: Off-Duty Interlude**_

Neither Bobby nor Alex got much sleep. By the time they had followed Lewis home and gotten back to Manhattan, it was after 3:00 a.m. Rather than waste more time driving, Bobby 'crashed' at Alex's apartment. She got the couch, as usual, just 'cause she fit there more comfortably.

Bobby couldn't stop his mind from racing as he tried to figure out _why_ the Misucci's would have a grudge against Lewis. The more he tried to force himself to relax and fall asleep, the more frustrated he became as he tossed and turned. He grabbed for another pillow from the other side of the bed and buried his face into it, muffling his sigh of frustration. He closed his eyes and inhaled, taking an even deeper breath, caught off guard by the pleasant feeling that overtook him. He felt himself relaxing. The pillow smelled like _her. _His last conscious thoughts turned to far more pleasant things as he finally drifted off to sleep.

Even though he was exhausted, he was happy when daylight broke: It was time to get up and get to the office to talk to Deakins and put their plan into action. He showered and dressed quickly, glad that he had taken Alex's suggestion several weeks prior and had stored a clean change of clothes at her apartment for just such an occasion.

He quietly walked to the living room and sat on the edge of the sofa, waking her and laughing at her morning grouchiness, but offered, "I'll put on a pot of coffee while you get ready." He watched, totally amused, as she stumbled towards the bathroom, eyes still half-closed, hair a mess. "_Damn_, she's cute," he thought to himself.

The coffee had just finished brewing when Bobby heard the shower water shut off. He opened the cupboard to get them each a mug and as he turned to set them on the counter, he saw Alex standing in the kitchen doorway, her bath towel 'sarong' snugly wrapped around her petite frame, damp hair leaving tiny droplets of water on her shoulders. He tried to be matter-of-fact and conceal how much he appreciated the sight, so he merely grabbed the coffee pot and began pouring.

"You think Deakins is gonna' go for it?" she asked.

"I hope so — umm, but maybe we should re-think things," Bobby answered, averting his eyes from the tempting sight as he poured the half & half. "Maybe Morris could..."

"No way, Bobby! This is ours. We had it all planned out last night – _that's_ the plan we're sticking to." She was looking at him sternly as he walked towards her and handed her the steaming hot mug. Her expression eased a little as she muttered a 'thanks' and headed back towards the bedroom to get dressed.

Bobby leaned against the wall, sipping from his mug as he watched her retreat — that _damn_ little 'sarong' hugging all the right places. He thought he would've grown used to it by now– immune to her feminine charms, but every now and then — like when he smelled her scent on the pillow or saw her in nothing but a towel, his imagination would go wild, crossing over the "partner" line and transporting him to a far more satisfying place. He wondered, sometimes, if she did it on purpose – those little verbal or visual flirtations and innuendo — but he quickly dispatched the notion. "No," he tried to convince himself, "Eames isn't like that. She definitely sees herself as a cop – just a partner. Hell, she _likes_ being treated like one of the guys." He took another sip from the mug. "Just accept it, Goren," he told himself. "Men are wired differently – what did that one study say? 'Men think about sex at least fifteen times per hour'." He let out a deep sigh as a realization came to him: "I think she's puttin' me over the daily average."

He snapped out of his thoughts and crossed the kitchen to place his empty mug in the sink.

"You ready?" her voice asked teasingly.

"Yeah, let's go."

She locked up and they headed down the three flights of stairs. He was only half listening as she asked if he wanted to stop at the new Krispy Kreme down the block; he was remembering an old song that had suddenly popped into his head and was inwardly singing along with the lyrics,

"...I need some consolation...I've spent my whole life yearning...agony is borne of desire, that's what ya' get for wanting..."

END Chapt. Three

Musical Credit: Artist: Moev

Album: Yeah whatever

Song: Wanting


	4. Chapter 4

1**_PAYBACK_**

**Chapter Four**

**Major Case Squad**

**Thursday, 10:15 a.m.**

Captain Deakins laid his hands on his desk and looked towards Morris with a small smile and nod, "So, it's settled then. Thanks, Morris. You three can meet later on to iron out the details." Morris rose from his chair, returning the nod and smile to Deakins. He shot a quick, almost nervous glance towards Bobby and Alex and hastily left the office.

Bobby and Alex began to stand.

"Not so fast, you two," Deakins barked.

They settled back in their chairs, Alex looking annoyed; Bobby with eyebrows raised, as if to question "what's going on?"

"You wanna' tell me what the problem is?" he asked, eyes shifting back and forth, trying to 'read' the faces staring back at him.

"Th-there's no problem," Bobby answered, with a nervous laugh, shaking his head from side to side, then looking at Alex for her affirmation.

She folded her arms and crossed her legs. (Bobby had no trouble interpreting _that_ body language. She was angry; shutting him out). Alex addressed her response to Deakins, "Maybe _he_ doesn't have a problem, but _I do_."

Bobby let out a sigh and rolled his eyes. He knew why she was pissed off. She had told him earlier in the morning that this was _their_ operation. He also knew what she was thinking: "that Bobby just _had to_ have things his own way and bring Morris into it."

She shifted in her seat and exhaled with a huff. She didn't know what bothered her more: The way he had undermined her –and what she thought was their agreed-upon plan– right in front of the Captain, or his motivation for doing it. "He doesn't trust me to be able to do the job and protect Lewis – 'cause I'm a woman," she surmised.

Deakins smiled at his scrappy little Detective. He admired her candor. "Look, Alex, I understand where you're coming from." Deakins could almost _feel_ Bobby wincing as the words left his mouth.

A dozen smart-ass comebacks whizzed through Alex's brain, but she restrained herself from verbalizing any of them, fearful that the Captain would yank her off the assignment all together if she pissed _him_ off sufficiently.

"Don't blame Goren. I wouldn't have gone for your plan to begin with. There's no way in _hell_ I'd send only _one_ of my men, or women, into a situation like this without on-the-scene backup; not with the Masucci's involved. Bobby's right – it's too dangerous."

Alex tilted her head, giving him a slight nod of agreement. She uncrossed her legs and stood, while saying, "I guess we're through here, then?"

The Captain nodded.

Ever the gentleman, Bobby stood, quickly crossing behind her chair – beating her to the door so he could open it for her. Her eyes glanced up at his, as she walked past his large frame. She didn't return his smile.

Bobby turned back towards Deakins with a shrug of his shoulders. "Don't worry, she'll come around," the Captain tried to assure him.

**5:55 p.m.**

The remainder of the workday passed. They spoke, when necessary, about their caseload, but the tension between them was almost palpable. Close to quitting time, Bobby tried –again– to break the ice. "So, you gonna' miss me tomorrow?"

She had momentarily forgotten that Bobby was scheduled to be off on Friday, but the reminder almost brought her a sense of relief: she wouldn't have to suffer through another uncomfortable day of giving Bobby the 'cold shoulder.'

"You're still going? Lewis feels up to it?"

"Yeah, I called him at lunch time to see how he was feeling. So, umm, yeah, we're still 'on.'

She grabbed her purse from her bottom drawer and removed the blazer hanging over the back of her chair, as she stood to leave.

Having thought he had made some progress towards improved relations, he prodded her, "So, you haven't answered my question," he said with a smile.

"Oh, sorry," she said with a smirk, as she rounded their desks to leave. " 'Bout as much as you'll miss me, I suppose," she flatly answered and headed for the elevator.

The coldness of her tone caught him off guard, instantly erasing his smile. Sure, she'd been angry with him before, but she always got over it. He couldn't leave things like this, especially since he was going away for three days – he wouldn't be able to have any fun – it'd be the most miserable 72 hours he could imagine if he left things like _this_. The thought process that he had just flashed through his mind, turning everything around to make it about _him_ didn't escape his notice; he realized his selfishness — "another 'Goren flaw' to work on," he chided himself. He bolted from his seat and ran towards the elevator.

"Eames!" he exclaimed, while jabbing his arm through, just in time, to reopen the closing doors.

"Alex, wait!" Thankfully, they were the only two in the elevator. "Can we talk?"

She didn't answer. She faced forwarded, silently counting off the descending numbers as they passed each floor.

He took a step closer, touching her arm. "Alex," his soft voice almost whispered.

He was wearing down her resistance. She _did _hate being mean to him, but had learned over the years that it was, just about, her only leverage against him. He was bigger, stronger, opinionated–and usually right– overbearing; hell, 99.9 percent of the time Deakins sided with him. What else could she do to 'overpower' him – knock him down a notch, other than resort to using her feminine wiles? Sure, they were friends, partners, but there was also no denying the male/female dynamic between them. So what do women do when they're pissed off at "their" man? They give 'em the cold shoulder treatment until they feel they've made their partner suffer enough – until they feel they've proven their point – then, when she says so, they make up. Is it childish? Yes. Does it work? Absolutely. Probably has for centuries.

He moved even closer. She could feel the strength of his size, his 'presence.' She felt his warm breath on her ear and neck. "I'll buy ya' a margarita."

"You better make it two, buster," she playfully answered.

For the first time all day, he could relax. "She's back," he said to himself, while exhaling one of the breathy chuckles that she loved hearing. The elevator doors opened at the parking garage and he gently placed his hand on her shoulder as they walked towards the SUV.

xxxxxxx

Alex was pleasantly surprised when Bobby suggested they have their drinks and dinner at Solari's, rather than their regular hang out, Carucci's. It was a quieter place, a few notches up from the regular Carucci's fare and frequented by most of the Judges and lawyers from the downtown area. She was feeling very relaxed by the time her second glass was empty and was grateful for the appetizers Bobby had ordered. She'd have been in worse shape if there hadn't been at least a little food going into her stomach along with the generous doses of tequila and triple sec. Bobby had warned her that the bartender, Jerry, was notorious for pouring with a heavy hand. Bobby had only one scotch and soda, and had ordered a bottle of wine to accompany dinner. She knew how he got after a couple of drinks. He was more relaxed and less defensive. It was a golden opportunity.

"So, now that you've mellowed out a little, you wanna' tell me what that was all about today?"

He dabbed at his mouth with his napkin and reached for his wine glass, taking a small sip. He let out a long breath. "You know I can't go anywhere near Lewis' place, not with the Masucci's watching."

"Uh-huh."

"So, what did you expect me to do? Send you in there alone, with no back up? You know the Captain would never have gone for that, anyway." He took another sip. "Don't even try giving me that look, Alex. If I had a guy for a partner, it'd be the same. No cop is _not_ gonna' cover his partner's back."

Alex took a drink from her glass. "Okay, fair enough. As long as I know it had nothing to do with my being female."

Bobby held up his hand, waving a contradictory finger. "It had nothing to do with the fact that you're a female _police officer_. It, umm, it has everything to do with the fact that you're a _woman_ -- an-an-and my partner."

She laid down fork, giving him a scowl, just for a second. "You should've quit while you were ahead."

He took a deep breath, raising his shoulders and sinking back into the booth as he exhaled.

"Robert Goren," she said, taking a long pause. At least she was smiling. "Don't even tell me you're jealous." She looked across the table. He was playing, making patterns in his risotto with his fork, avoiding her eyes.

He refilled his wine glass and drank – an extra gulp for courage. "I won't be with you at work; won't be able to be there and see what's going on--- know that you're all right."

"Well, I know you trust Morris or you wouldn't have dragged him into this. We'll _be_ all right," she tried to reassure him.

Bobby managed a small smile. "Well, at least you'll be in the office helping with the books and not out in the garage helping Lewis do oil changes and ruining your manicure," he joked.

"Hmmm-mmmm, you saw to _that_, didn't you," she said with a knowing smile.

"Wh-wh-what do ya' mean?" he asked, as if innocent.

"Maybe I should tell Lewis about how is best buddy sabotaged him," she teasingly threatened with her classic eyebrows raised expression. "The poor guy was _so_ looking forward to seeing me in coveralls," she smiled and finished off her glass.

Bobby exhaled – defeated. She had known all along.

**Friday Morning**

**8:00 a.m.**

Lewis picked up Bobby at eight o'clock on Friday morning and they headed towards the Jersey shore. They drove for over an hour, but Lewis needed to get out and stretch, as his back and ribs were still sore, so they stopped at a diner on Route 9 for breakfast.

They continued on to Raceway Park and enjoyed the fresh air and sun as they browsed through the gigantic swap meet. It was a sea of car parts and accessories – Lewis was in heaven. They decided to take a break and each grabbed a couple of hotdogs and a beer and headed to the grandstand to watch some of the racers' time trials.

Later that night, they arrived in Point Pleasant and, after checking in at their motel, headed for the boardwalk. The fun, lighthearted atmosphere was good relaxation for both of them. They strolled along, carefree, taking in the sounds and scents; kids screaming with excitement on the rides, the music from the carousel; the aromas of pizza, french fries, and the sizzling sausage and peppers.

"Man, I'm getting' hungry," Lewis said, rubbing his stomach.

"C'mon, let's have dinner here," Bobby said, tossing his head towards Jenkinson's. The elevated pier behind the arcade and restaurant extended out over the beach to the shoreline. They chose the table at the farthest end of the pier. It was more peaceful out towards the water, where the rhythmic roar of the breaking waves drowned out the noises of the boardwalk. The festive, multi-colored light bulbs of the various rides in the distance shone a bright silhouette against the black night sky.

Their friendly waitress, clad in white board shorts and a hot pink bikini top, efficiently delivered their meals and pitcher of beer. "If you guys need anything else, just holler," she said with a smile. Both Bobby and Lewis watched as she walked away with just the perfect amount of 'swing' in her long blond ponytail _and _her hips. Bobby poured each of them a glass of the cold, frothy beer and they tapped their glasses together in a toast.

xxxxxxxx

Bobby pushed back from the table, surveying the pile of now-empty shells of crab legs and bare corn cobs. Lewis was still picking at the fries when Bobby asked, "So, how're you feeling, Lewis?"

Lewis looked nonchalant. "I'm okay, just a little sore."

"Well, you've had a little time to think about what happened the other night. You remember anything…something from your past…why DeMarco or the Masucci's would have it out for ya'?"

"I told ya' Bobby, I don't have a clue. Maybe it's like Alex said the other night, maybe it's nothing against me, personally. Maybe they just want my garage, you know, as a cover …a chop shop… repainting stolen cars… I dunno'."

Bobby shook his head. His gut told him differently. He and Alex had just been espousing different possibilities to Lewis when she suggested that, but no: Bobby had a feeling it _was_ personal.

"You know, you can tell me, Lewis, if you're in some kinda' trouble. Has business been okay? You didn't go to a loan shark or lose money gambling, did you?"

Lewis scoffed and finished his glass of beer.

"Okay, I was just checking. I-I just want you to know --- we're friends first, I'm a cop second."

"I know, Bobby, thanks."

They sat in silence for a moment, enjoying the sights – especially the one of their pretty waitress approaching with their check. "You sure I can't get you guys another pitcher, or maybe some dessert?"

"No, thank you," the two friends smiled in unison, with Lewis adding, "I'm stuffed."

She placed the check on the table with a smile. "Well, thank you. Have a great weekend!" Bobby reached for the check; "I've got this, Lewis. You paid for the room."

"Thanks, bud," Lewis smiled, patting Bobby's shoulder. As they walked back towards the boardwalk, Lewis joked, "Ya' know, I think there's only ever _been_ one crook in my family – my mom used to rant about him to my dad sometimes when I was a kid – my Uncle Walter."

"Wh-what d'ya mean a 'crook'? What did he do?"

"I'm not sure. Mom used to say something about him running around town with some kind of numbers or money. I was never really sure what she was talking about, I was just a kid. I just got the idea that he was some kind of scoundrel – the black sheep of the family, ya' know?"

"Running numbers? Is _that_ what she said?"

"Yeah, that sounds right," Lewis answered while his head swivelled to check out the rear view of a pair of women who had just passed by in the opposite direction. "What _is_ that?" he asked naively.

Bobby smiled and laughed, "That's the maffia's private lottery, Lewis; been going on for decades."

Lewis looked towards Bobby for a further explanation.

Bobby's hands were in full motion now. "Look, way before the State ever sanctioned the lottery and picked winning numbers on TV every night, the mobs ran their own lottery. People would call in or place their bets at the neighborhood bar or barber shop. The "runners" would go pick up the wager money and deliver money to the winners."

"How'd they pick the winning number?"

"That's the beauty of it," Bobby chuckled. "The day after you placed your bet, you'd buy the newspaper and turn to the track results. That's how they got the word out – the paper printed the daily attendance at Belmont Park – you take the last three digits – _there's_ your mafia Pick3 number for the day."

"You're serious?" Lewis asked with an incredulous look.

"Sure. I can't believe you didn't already know that," Bobby laughed. "It's still going on."

"You want an ice cream cone?" Lewis asked.

"Sure – a twist, umm, with chocolate sprinkles. So, Lewis, this 'UncleWalter," he on your mom's side of the family or dad's?"

"My dad's brother, Walter Kyzinski. He got killed in a car accident back in '70 or '71."

Bobby dug his cell phone out of his pocket, holding up his finger in a "wait a second" gesture towards his friend.

"Hi!"

"Geez, you miss me already?" Alex teased.

"I need ya' to do me a favor."

"What's up? You guys okay?" It was difficult for Bobby to hear, over the commotion of the boardwalk.

"Yeah, we had a good day. Umm, listen, see what you can dig up on a Walter Kyzinski and any ties to any of the local mob families – especially with numbers rackets. He's Lewis' uncle. He died in a car accident back in '70 or '71."

"Okay, I'll call you back as soon as I find something. You two have fun!"

Bobby flipped the phone closed and took his ice cream cone from Lewis. "Alex is gonna' look into it. If there's a connection between the Masucci's, DeMarco and good 'ole Uncle Walter, she'll find it."

END Chapt. Four

**A/N: **As always, big thanks to the Reviewers. And yes, that's really how the "numbers" are picked – not that I'd have any first-hand personal knowledge about that – (wink,wink)


	5. Chapter 5

1**PAYBACK**

**Chapter Five**

**Saturday, 7:00 p.m.**

Alex was glad she had gotten the chance to go out with Bobby on Thursday night and "clear the air." She had missed him on Friday night for their customary end-of-the-week "unwinding" drinks at Carucci's, which were usually followed by pizza and a movie at her place.

She spent some time at the office on Saturday morning searching for anything she could find regarding Lewis' uncle, Walter Kyzinski. The records from the 1960's seemed like ancient history and, if truth be told, there was nothing more than a few pages on Kyzinski: a couple of misdemeanors; a loitering charge; bar fights, drunk and disorderly. Petty things. Most of them had resulted in small fines or were dismissed because the complainant or cop hadn't show up in Court to testify. Alex had called Bobby on Saturday to tell him the results of her research and he had almost sounded disappointed that she hadn't uncovered "the crime of the century;" _something...anything_ that would explain the Masucci/Kyzinski connection.

Alex went about her usual weekend activities, once she left the office. Some grocery shopping, laundry and housework and an afternoon visit with her sister and nephew. She picked up some Chinese food on the way home and had just settled in front of the TV with her Szechuan chicken and broccoli when the phone rang.

"Hello. Oh, hi mom. Yeah, I was over there earlier. He was crabby – cutting new teeth. I just sat down to eat – picked up Chinese. No, Bobby's not here, he's away for the weekend with Lewis. Tomorrow? Well, I guess I can make it. I don't know what time he's getting back– if he makes it in time, sure, I'll invite him. You need me to bring anything? Okay, see ya' tomorrow."

She moaned as she hung up the phone. She _really_ didn't feel like going to the family dinner on Sunday, but she hadn't seen her parents in a few weeks – and they always included Bobby in the invitation – so she figured, "What the hell. If Aunt Katie and Aunt Dolores are yapping too much, I can always feign a headache and cut out early."

Alex dipped her egg roll in duck sauce with one hand, while grabbing the remote and pressing 'on' with the other: Jeopardy – her usual dinner companion.

"_...I'll take Ancient Greek Mythology for eight hundred..."_

"_This son of Apollo was taught medicine by the centaur, Chiron, and was later killed for defying Zeus and bringing mortals back from the dead."_

"_No one? Who is Asclepius? – also known as Asculapius, the healing god. Mary, choose again."_

She dipped again while smirking at the TV; "Easy for you, smart ass, with your little answer cards in front of you. Bobby would've known that." She took another bite.

**Sunday, 3:00 p.m.**

She heard a knock at the door, just as she was turning off the shower water. She quickly wrapped her hair and herself in a towel and went to the door, spying out the peep hole. Staring back at her was a brown, fuzzy face, with a button nose; little rounded ears – and wearing a bow tie.

She smiled, "I don't recognize you," she yelled through the door. Then she heard his laugh.

"C'mon Alex, open up."

She unlocked and opened the door. Bobby walked in, holding the huge teddy bear. "I felt ridiculous walking around with this thing," he laughed as he offered it to her.

She held it up, admiring it. "He's adorable!"

"Is that all you ever wear?" he teased.

"Sorry, I just got outta' the shower. I'm due at my folks house for dinner at five."

"I figured maybe you could give it to your nephew."

"Forget it! He's going straight on my bed. It's been _years_ since a boyfriend's won me a prize on the boardwalk!" she said, giving the furry, soft animal a hug as she headed off to the bedroom.

He stood, watching as she retreated down the hall. "Her and her damn towels," he muttered under his breath.

She yelled back over her shoulder, "You're invited, too!"

Several minutes later, she reappeared in the living room, wearing jeans, a turquoise cami and her retro Candies sandals. Bobby had made himself at home and was leafing through the Sunday Times.

"You're sunburned," she observed. "Need some lotion?"

"Nah, it's okay. So, what's the occasion?"

"What, dinner? No occasion – just the family gettin' together. It's okay if you don't wanna' come. My Aunt Katie and Aunt Dolores are gonna' be there – you know how annoying they can get with their yapping.

She waited for his response, watching as he jotted in some answers to the crossword puzzle. For a second, she thought that he hadn't been paying attention – too absorbed in his thinking.

"Should I change?"

"No, you look fine," she assured him.

"I'm assuming that Aunt Katie's and Aunt Dolores' spouses are gonna' be there. Mind if I bring this in the car to finish on the way?" he asked, rising from the sofa and holding up the puzzle.

Alex looked at him – eyes shifting back and forth – her eyebrows raised at him, asking the silent question, "yeah, so what's your point?" He never answered her right away when she gave him one of those looks. He'd wait a while, giving her a few seconds to figure out where his train of thought was going and hop onboard.

He saw her smile and nod. "Uncle Danny and Uncle Mickey," she said.

Bobby smiled. "Both cops — walkin' the beat back in the days when 'ole Uncle Walter was runnin' numbers and gettin' into trouble. I betcha' they know something."

He held the door for Alex as they left her apartment and headed for the family dinner.

**4:45 p.m.**

**The Eames' Residence**

Bobby had insisted on stopping by the local liquor store to bring some beer and wine for dinner. He hated showing up empty handed.

Alex rang the bell, just to 'announce' their arrival. She opened the door and she and Bobby let themselves in, stepping into the living room and the collective cheerful greeting of the rest of the Eames family. Her mother gave them each a 'hello' kiss and hug. John Eames shook Bobby's hand and patting his shoulder, "Good to see you again, Bobby."

"Good to see you too, Mr. Eames."

John Eames smiled as he took one of the bags from Bobby, easily detecting the cold six-packs inside.

"C'mon, Bobby – the men are in here," he announced while handing a cold bottle of brew to each of his brothers-in-law and one to Bobby."

Alex made her rounds around the room, kissing and greeting her uncles. Her mother stood by the kitchen doorway, "Come Alex, we women are in here – you can give me a hand with the salads."

Bobby smirked, knowing that Alex would've preferred to stay among the men– the cops. She returned his look with a playful sneer, cocking her head to one side, and grudgingly headed for the kitchen.

Bobby knew better than to start questioning the men about Walter Kyzinski without Alex being present – _that_ would have pissed her off. So, instead, he settled back on the couch, joining in on their chat and watching the ball game. He figured he'd get more out of 'em later, anyway. It was a known fact that after beer had been flowing for a while, that old cops' stories seemed to flow more easily, too. He chuckled to himself at the thought, as he grabbed some pretzels from the bowl on the coffee table.

For no reason, his earlier exchange with Alex suddenly popped into his thoughts as he sunk back into the deep, comfortable sofa. "She said 'boyfriend'." He smiled and chugged what was left in the bottle.

END Chapt. Five


	6. Chapter 6

1**PAYBACK**

**Chapter Six**

**7:00 p.m.**

**The Eames' Residence**

It had been a simple, but delicious, summertime dinner of bar-b-qued chicken and ribs, corn-on-the-cob, baked beans, and a tossed green salad, along with potato salad, cole slaw and macaroni salad. Aunt Dolores had brought her 'famous' peach and cherry pies and Aunt Katie, who couldn't bake at all, had stopped at the bakery and brought an assortment of fancy cookies. Bobby and Alex sat at the picnic table with Alex's dad and Uncles Daniel and Mickey. The other women, after cleaning up the dinner mess, had opted for the chaise lounges on the lawn, each relaxing with a glass of wine and chatting, incessantly, as Alex knew they would.

By nature, John Eames was a gregarious, friendly man and after a few drinks he became even more so. "Bobby, my boy! Why don't ya' twist open another one!" he said, smiling and patting Bobby's back.

Bobby smiled at Alex and obliged her Dad, twisting the caps off two bottles of Guinness, and passing one to John.

"So, how are things at the station?" Uncle Mickey asked. He was always the first to start talking about 'police work' — of Alex's three retired relatives, he seemed to miss it the most. Even the slightest mention of their latest case could set Uncle Mickey off for hours, reminiscing about his old days on the force.

Before Alex or Bobby could answer, Johnny teased, "Station? Ha! These two don't know what it was like to work in a _real_ station – they're in some fancy high rise – all the amenities – like some damn Five Star Hotel!"

Alex gave Bobby a knowing glance. They could take the ribbing from the older ex-officers and she knew it was the perfect opportunity to test their memories – stroke their egos and let the old timers feel good, knowing they could still contribute to some good old-fashioned police work.

They all had a good laugh over Johnny Eames' teasing, each taking another swig from his beer bottle, until Bobby interrupted. He leaned forward, folded arms resting on the table, looking them all in the eye as he spoke. "Well, actually, Alex and I came here tonight in the hopes that you might be able to help us out a little on our latest investigation."

Johnny looked at his daughter – not quite sure if Bobby was pulling his leg. Alex nodded, "It was Bobby's idea – when he heard you two were gonna' be here, too," she said, looking at Daniel and Mickey."

Anxious as expected, Mickey was the first to ask, "What's up? What're you workin' on?"

"I'm starting an undercover assignment tomorrow," Alex told them. Her father's face showed his concern. Mickey and Daniel sat attentively, waiting to hear more.

"The other night, my friend, Lewis – he umm, he was paid a little visit by some goons working for one of the new bosses in the Masucci family. The thing _is_, neither Lewis or us can figure out why."

Eames' family knew Lewis– sort of. He had attended a few holiday bar-b-ques and had come for dinner one Thanksgiving a couple of years back.

"The Masucci's," John said, looking at his daughter, now with even more concern. "They're some dangerous people – been at odds with the Bonanno's, the Lucchese's, –you name it, for years."

"Don't forget the Gambino's," Mickey added, taking another gulp, then looking at Alex. "So, what your angle goin' in?"

"Me and another detective, Morris, are goin' in. I'm gonna' be Lewis' new bookkeeper and office assistant," she said, with the snide look towards Bobby. He _knew_ she'd never let him live down is "coverall jealousy." We're just gonna' keep our eyes and ears open and make sure Lewis doesn't get hurt again. Then, once we're sure what they want, we'll put the sting operation in place."

"They work him over bad?" Daniel asked.

"Nothing broken, but bad enough," Bobby answered.

"I was thinking they wanna' pressure Lewis into using his shop as a front– stolen car or 'chop shop' ring," Alex explained. "Bobby thinks it's personal."

"How so," Mickey asked.

"Does the name Walter Kyzinski mean anything to any of you?" Bobby asked. He looked across the table at Alex, giving the three men a minute to recollect.

Johnny Eames was nodding his head– he must've been remembering something, but Mickey was the first to speak. "You're goin' way back — the '60's."

Bobby and Alex sat up more alertly in their seats, hopeful they were about to learn some information that could help their case.

Mickey continued, "He was into the ponies, heavy. He was a lucky sonofabitch, too. Couldn't hold a descent job for any length of time – he was always at the track, or hanging out with the characters down at the Yellow Lantern."

"I remember him, now," Daniel said. "The last name threw me for a minute, but yeah – the guys at the Lantern – they called him 'Little Wally' or 'Lucky.' He used to run numbers for Vinny 'The Chin' Gigante."

"Yeah, 'til he got caught dippin' in the pot," Mickey laughed. "Then bye-bye Wally."

"Gigante? Of the Genovese family?" Bobby asked impatiently.

Uncle Daniel nodded "yes." Bobby turned towards Alex, holding his hands palms up, "Well, that explains it."

She looked at him quizzically, as did the three other men at the table.

"Walter Kyzinski was Lewis' uncle. G-G-Gigante," he said, hands still waving — "He was DeMarco's uncle. Lewis' uncle Walter steals from Gigante, now DeMarco comes around and wants to settle the debt – he's gonna' strong-arm Lewis for the payback."

Alex nodded. "The Masucci's and the Genovese's – they're one big happy family." Bobby nodded, affirming her observation.

"U-U-Uncle Mickey," Bobby stammered, "Y-you said 'bye-bye Wally'. You know what happened?"

"Just the rumors – but everyone _knew_," Mickey said, glancing around the table. "That little 'accident' he got into on his way to the track in Jersey," he said with a knowing smile as he took another drink, "that was no 'accident'."

Bobby bolted up from the table, looking at Alex. "Uncle Daniel, Uncle Mickey, John – you've been a _big _help."

"I guess we're going?" Alex asked sarcastically, rising from her seat, then making her way around the table to kiss everyone good-bye.

She didn't know it yet, but Bobby had already made up his mind. They were gonna' head back to One PP to call Deakins and have him assemble a bigger team – one headed by Bobby. There was no way he was staying away from this operation – or Alex, not with the combined forces of the Masucci's and Genovese's involved.

END Chapt. Six


	7. Chapter 7

1_**PAYBACK**_

**Chapter Seven**

Captain Deakins was not thrilled when he got the call from Bobby at almost 8:00 Sunday night, but his annoyance subsided once he learned the story of the Kyzinski/DeMarco connection. "This could turn into something big," he had told Bobby with almost a hint of hope and excitement in his voice. "I'll get there as soon as I can."

By the time he had gotten to the office, Bobby, Alex and Morris had reformulated their plan – subject to Deakins' approval, of course. The three Detectives had been anxiously awaiting his arrival – they were all aware of his connections and needed the Captain to call in a few favors if their operation was to proceed. Deakins got settled behind his desk.

"So, tell me what you've got."

Bobby circled the Captain's desk and stood beside him, showing him the notes, plans and diagrams that he, Alex and Morris had come up with.

Deakins read for a minute, finally getting to the part where Bobby had included himself in the surveillance. He glanced upwards, trying to stifle the smile that was curving the corners of his mouth. He knew there was no way Bobby could've _not_ been involved – but he still wasn't convinced that it was a smart choice to run the risk of his being sighted. The Captain sighed and pushed the papers towards the middle of his desk. The move frustrated Bobby, at first. He thought that Deakins was dismissing their ideas – withholding his approval.

"Lemme make some calls. I'll see what I can do."

Bobby nodded and walked to the door, holding it open for Alex and Morris to exit. "Thanks, Captain," he said.

"Wait a second, Bobby," he said, motioning with his hand for Bobby to come back. "Close the door."

Bobby stood in front of the desk, eyebrows raised, and asked, "Something wrong?"

"If I call in these favors, I've gotta' know that you're not…"

Bobby interrupted before the Captain could finish his sentence, "I'm not gonna' ruffle anybody's feathers…I've just…" he let out a sigh, "I've just gotta' be there."

Deakins nodded an 'okay'. He understood completely.

Morris, Bobby and Alex had gone down to the cafeteria for coffee, affording the Captain sufficient time to make the necessary phone calls. Almost an hour had passed, so the three of them decided to head back upstairs to see if Deakins had made any progress. As they walked back into the squad room, the Captain was just hanging up the phone. He waved them into his office.

They anxiously filed in, eager to learn if the Captain's "powers of persuasion" with his City Hall buddies was successful.

Bobby held the chair for Alex as she sat; Morris took the other and Bobby opted to half-sit on the corner of the Captain's desk, leaning forward, resting on his forearm.

"Well, now my ass is on the line for results," he only semi-joked. He continued, "The Commissioner's office gave us the 'go ahead' --- as long as the Mayor's Task Force is in on it, too.

Bobby huffed and let out a sigh, indicative of his disdain for the bureaucratic "red tape." "I can _handle_ this," he said emphatically, banging his hand on the desk…"W-w-w-_we_ can handle it." Deakins and Alex exchanged a quick, knowing glance: Bobby was already edgy.

"I know, Bobby, I know," he reassured him. "But, let's face it – they're not called "The Mayor's Task Force on Organized Crime" for nothing -- there's no way we could leave 'em outta' it, so just get used to the idea. We'll use their resources and _play nice_ – okay?"

Everyone nodded in agreement.

"Okay then. Alex, Morris – you two will go to Lewis' tomorrow, as planned. The Task Force is gonna' need a day to get themselves organized so, Bobby, you'll join in with them for the surveillance on Tuesday."

That news elicited another groan from Bobby, which Deakins ignored.

"You guys got your new ID's and cell phones?"

Alex and Morris nodded, "We're all set."

"Good. You two are on your own for tomorrow, so be careful. We don't know when DeMarco or his men are gonna' make their next move, so if anybody does show up, just play it cool – and make sure you're not followed home. As of Tuesday, you'll be set up in your 'ghost' apartments, so you won't have to worry about it."

Bobby stood, circling the room and finally coming to a stop behind Alex's chair, absent-mindedly resting a hand on her shoulder. "I haven't told Lewis any of this yet."

"I think he's better off not knowing," Morris interjected. "I mean, he'll have Alex and me there. If he knows how serious or dangerous this could get, it could make him jumpier – send out vibes that DeMarco and his men will definitely pick up on."

"I agree," Bobby said.

"It's settled, then," Deakins said. "You two, good luck — and keep on your toes. Bobby, I'll see you here tomorrow."

Deakins stood and exited his office with the three Detectives. He and Morris caught the elevator, but Bobby and Alex lagged behind, back at their desks.

"Don't look so sad," Alex teased. "It's not the end of the world that we'll be separated for a little while."

"I'm not sad — I'm...concerned," he answered, the worry knitting his eyebrows. "Lewis has never been in the middle of anything like this – I just wanna' make sure nothing bad happens to him — OR you."

"I'll told you Morris and I will be careful. And now with the Task Force guys lookin' out for us, too...it'll be fine."

Her words of reassurance were met only with another deep sigh.

"You hungry?"

"Are you kidding? After all that food we ate at my parents'?" she answered, noticing how the smile and hopeful look on his face quickly turned to one of disappointment. Then it occurred to her: his only reason for asking was because he wasn't ready for the night to be over– he was trying to stall. It was his typical round-about way of asking her to spend time with him and every time he did it, it tugged at her heart. She rarely, if ever, refused him.

"Tell ya' what, if _you're_ hungry, we can stop and get ya' something 'to go' on the way back to my apartment – then we can watch a movie or something and maybe I'll just throw some microwave popcorn in for myself."

His eyes brightened and his smiled returned, "Gr-great, let's go!"

It always went unspoken, but he appreciated how she humored him, understanding his "separation anxiety." One day long ago, he had finally confessed to her about the emotions he went through while she was out on maternity leave. He realized that the next few weeks were just a temporary situation– and dangerous– and he wasn't looking forward to the readjustment of once again not having her by his side on a daily basis.

They stood quietly as the elevator descended, until Bobby finally broke the silence. "Th-thanks, Alex," was all he said.

"You're welcome...and from now on, it's Allysen – Allysen McCarthy," she teased.

xxxxxxx

**Monday, 7:30 a.m.**

**Lewis' Auto Body**

Right on time, Lewis' car pulled into the narrow driveway between his garage and the building next door. He was already smiling, looking forward to seeing Alex. She exited her car and approached the front door of Lewis' shop, where he stood waiting for her after unlocking the door. She was carrying a manila folder and dressed in comfortable shoes, her low-rise jeans and a sleeveless black V-neck top. As she slipped through the doorway, Lewis kept a few steps behind, admiring the view. And she knew it.

"How're you feeling?"

"Okay. Bobby and I had a great time over the weekend; did he tell you?"

"Not too much," she answered, pivoting around to talk to him face-to-face. "Remember," she lowered her voice to a whisper, "don't mention Bobby's name."

"Oh, okay, I forgot – sorry," Lewis said, turning to the large metal locker and retrieving a new, folded pair of dark blue coveralls bearing the "Lewis Auto Body" logo. He smiled and handed them to her, "Here, you can put these on so you won't get dirty," he offered, as if innocent, but was betrayed by his devilish smile.

She took the coveralls and checked the label at the neck: "S" "Try again," she smirked, " 'cause from now on, I'm Allysen McCarthy, your new bookkeeper and office assistant." She thoroughly enjoyed watching the eager expression on his face turn sour. She shoved the folded garment back at Lewis. "Your new _helper_ is Dave Morris – or from now on, he'll be Danny Moriarty. He'll be here any minute and, umm, I hope those come in an extra large." She fought hard to keep the smile from her face, turned and headed for Lewis' office.

Lewis stood, coveralls in hand, looking totally disappointed. He walked back over to the locker and stuffed them back on the shelf, muttering to himself, "Damn Bobby...I should've known..."

Morris/Moriarty arrived a few minutes later, leaving time for a quick introduction and review of their plans before the rest of Lewis' workers arrived. The day passed without incident and Alex actually was able to help Lewis get organized. After hours of sorting through papers and degreasing just about everything in sight, she organized his desk and shelves and file cabinet. She stood in the doorway, admiring her handiwork, thinking to herself, "This place really shaped up nice." Lewis came up alongside her and peeked in. "Wow, this looks great!" he exclaimed." He paused, "What happened to Miss July?"

"Allysen" teasingly elbowed him in the side, forgetting out his recent rib injury. "Pig."

"Ooouch!"

She turned, realizing what she had done. "Lewis - I'm sorry, I forgot. Are you okay?"

"I guess I know now how you've kept Bobby in line all these years," he answered, massaging his side.

"Sshhhhh, no names! Remember?"

As he was nodding and about to continue their teasing, 'Danny' approached, quickly whispering, "Heads up guys," then moved to the tool box to pretend he was retrieving a wrench.

"Allysen' held up a ledger sheet, pretending to be showing Lewis some phony debits and credits. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him approaching and quickly surmised to herself, "That's probably a $2,000 suit – it's _gotta'_ be him."

The man cleared his throat as he approached, making them aware of his presence. Lewis looked up from the paper and smiled, "Hi, can I help you?"

'Allysen' looked beyond the man, through the service bays of the garage and spotted two other very large men standing in the entrance, arms folded.

The man brushed by 'Allysen', muttering a sarcastic, "Excuse me, sweetheart," as he took Lewis by the arm and guided him through the office door. "You wanna' close that for us, honey," he said.

"Sure," she answered with a fake smile, gently swinging it closed. She felt the eyes of the bodyguards upon her, so she nonchalantly crossed the garage and went to the coffee pots, acting as if it was her usual routine at this time of the day to wash them and clean up the snack area.

xxxxxxx

Inside Lewis' office, things weren't so routine.

The man extended an arm, inviting Lewis to have a seat at his own desk. The man looked at the chair next to him, examining it for dirt and grease before lowing himself onto it.

"Mr. Kyzinski — Lewis, if I may?"

"Sure."

"My name is Carmine DeMarco. I believe I owe you a bit of an apology," he dryly stated.

"An apology?"

"Yes. For my associates. I believe they paid you a visit a few nights ago."

"That was you?"

"No. That was _them_. They acted on their own." DeMarco surveyed the neat, much cleaner office. "Well, at least it looks like you've had a chance to straighten up after their visit."

Lewis didn't respond to the sarcasm. He merely asked, "So, what do you want with me?"

"Ah, a businessman after my own heart," DeMarco laughed. "I like men who get right to point. It saves so much valuable time, don't you agree?"

Lewis nodded. "So, like I asked – what do you want with me?"

DeMarco's smile faded. "What I want – and expect to receive – is your cooperation. Let's just say that a particular need had arisen for myself and some of my business associates and an auto business such as yours would greatly facilitate the success of our operation."

"What do you want me to do?"

"We expect to have full access to your establishment, day and night – weekends. Certain people will be visiting and leaving packages or envelopes for me. Certain types of —oh, shall we say 'cosmetic bodywork' will need to be done to certain vehicles. I'm sure I can count on your cooperation."

"I still don't understand why. Why me?"

DeMarco sighed. He wasn't used to answering people. "Tell me, Lewis, do you believe in family? Strong family ties? Are you your brother's keeper?" DeMarco leaned against the chair, awaiting Lewis' answer.

Lewis removed his glasses and tossed them on the desk. "I don't have a brother."

DeMarco was running out of patience. He didn't tolerate flippant answers from his underlings and he certainly wouldn't take them from this —mechanic— this nobody. He stood, adjusting his tie and re-buttoning his jacket. His dark, cold eyes stared at Lewis with warning. "But you had an uncle. An uncle who owes my family quite a large sum of money."

He turned towards the door, placing his hand on the doorknob and turned back towards Lewis. "There's an old saying that blood is thicker than water, Mr. Kyzinski. I truly hope it won't be necessary to find out just how _thickly_ your blood runs." He opened the door and strode through the garage. 'Allysen' and 'Daniel' watched as DeMarco's henchmen opened the door and escorted him to the black Lincoln waiting at the curb.

Once the car pulled away, they went to Lewis' office, just in time to find him stowing the bottle of liquor away in his bottom drawer. He had poured himself a Jack 'n Coke. They watched as his shaky hand raised the cup to his lips, downing the drink to two gulps.

"That bad, huh?" Alex asked trying to break the tension with some humor.

Lewis swallowed, hard. "Worse."

END Chapter Seven


	8. Chapter 8

1**_PAYBACK_**

**Chapter Eight**

_**The Work Day on Monday - Bobby's POV**_

Bobby had been dreading the workday on Monday, knowing that he would be preoccupied with worrying about the safety of Lewis, Alex and Morris — fearful of when and how DeMarco and his men would make their next move.

After a morning meeting with Deakins and wrapping up some loose ends and paperwork on other cases, he accepted a lunch invitation from Morris' partner, Bill Johnston – it was a welcome distraction.

Bill was a 'good fit' at Major Case; having spent years in Vice and Bunco/Forgery, he had certainly paid his dues. The partnership between Dave Morris and Bill had 'gelled' quickly. Physically, he was average in all respects: height, weight, looks – but, like Bobby, had an above-average intelligence and the ability to think quickly. He could "B.S." with the best of 'em and in his years on the job, that very talent had saved his hide on more occasions than he cared to remember. The only negative thing that could be said about Bill was the lousy coffee he made, and the Squad never missed a chance to remind him of it; their good-natured teasing easily rolled off Bill's back.

Just as Bobby and Johnston were finishing lunch, Bobby's cell phone rang – it was Deakins telling him to come back to the office – the officers from the Task Force had arrived and were ready to go over their plan.

As Bobby entered the Captain's office, he recognized the two faces immediately: Greg White and Marc Friedland. Bobby had worked with both of them in Narcotics years earlier. Greg was the first to greet Bobby as he walked in the room.

"Bobby! Good to see ya' man!" he said, while enthusiastically pumping Bobby's hand.

"Bobby, how's it goin'?" Marc asked.

"Okay – been a long time," he answered.

Deakins took back control of the meeting. "I was just fillin' 'em in on what we've got so far, which, unfortunately, isn't much."

"Our team is ready to go," White said. "That part of town gets pretty deserted once the work day's over, so we'll wait 'til dark. We'll have look-outs posted on every corner for a two-block radius while we're putting our equipment in."

"How close will we be?" Bobby asked.

"Across the street and three buildings down the block – second floor of tow truck company that went outta' business a couple months ago," Friedland answered.

"What about the decoy apartments for Eames and Morris?" Bobby asked.

There was an awkward silence and Bobby caught Deakins exchanging a nervous glance with the two detectives.

"What?" Bobby questioned, his head oscillating, looking at the other three.

Deakins let out a sigh, leaning forward with folded hands on his desk. "Look, Bobby – we think it might be better if you don't know the addresses…"

"What!" Bobby interrupted. "There's no way! No way you're gonna' keep that from me – she's my partner!"

Greg and Marc sat by silently, eyes downcast to avoid Bobby's wrath. Inwardly, each laughed to himself – it was good to know that Bobby hadn't changed over the years – being assigned to Major Case hadn't "softened" him – he still had his passion for the job.

"That's exactly the point, Bobby," Deakins tried to explain. "We can't take the chance – if you know where she is, you're not gonna' be able to resist going to see her — you could be spotted…"

"You actually think I'm so stupid that I'm gonna' blow her cover? You think I'm gonna' endanger my own partner, an-an-and Morris?" He paced the room, running his hands through his hair. Deakins' position was incredulous to him. He spun and faced Captain's desk, while White and Friedland sat, bracing themselves for the next rant.

But Bobby, obviously, wasn't stupid. He knew that taking the 'hard ass' approach with Deakins wasn't gonna' get him anywhere–except maybe thrown off the case. The Captain would win, anyway– rank has its privileges.

Bobby calmed himself and acquiesced, holding up his hands in surrender, "Okay, okay. I see your point, b-b-but at least gimme' a ghost phone so I can call her on hers — i-i-it won't be traceable."

"Okay," Deakins nodded, smiling at his easy victory.

White stood, shaking Deakins' hand across the desk, "Good meetin' with ya', Sir," he said. Friedland took Deakins' hand, "Thank you, Captain – and don't worry – we'll take good care of 'em," he assured.

Deakins turned to Bobby, "All right, this is it. You might as well head out with these boys and give 'em a hand gettin' the equipment together – – fill 'em in on whatever you know about the Kyzinski connection with DeMarco."

Bobby nodded.

"And Bobby," Deakins called as Goren was half-way out the door. "I want you to report to me twice a day — and _be careful._"

Bobby nodded in acknowledgment again, "We will."

Something in the Captain's gut told him he should know better than to believe him.

xxxxxxxxx

Bobby, White and Friedland rode the elevator down to the parking garage of One PP. Bobby was first to break the silence. "So, Greg – you remember ten years ago – that deal that went bad in Bed-Stuy?"

Greg let out a sigh, hunching his shoulders. "Don't do this to me Bobby."

Bobby inched closer, the way he crowds a suspect, lowering his voice into Greg's ear so that only he could hear. "Ya' know – that one where I saved your ass and took a bullet in the thigh..."

Greg shifted nervously and sighed again. "C'mon Bob— "

Bobby continued, interrupting Greg's plea. "The one where I didn't tell the captain about your umm, little _on-duty_ rendezvous with Carla in the loft."

"Geez, Bobby," he moaned, running a hand through his hair. He gave Bobby a sideways glance, it's on Pearson Place, off of Skillman — apartment 28."

Bobby patted Greg's shoulder in thanks, while smiling to himself, "Deakins should've known better."

xxxxxxxxx

By ten o'clock Monday night, the Task Force personnel and Bobby had everything in place in the building across the street from Lewis' garage. Surveillance duty had definitely improved since Bobby's old days in Narcotics. The Task Force had everything, from a mini-fridge stocked with milk, juice and sodas, to air mattresses so that the guys not "on watch" could catch some sleep – and, of course, the technology of their equipment was second to none.

Greg White walked around the room slowly, giving a final inspection before radioing the "all clear" to the lookouts outside, who promptly withdrew from the area. There was nothing to do now except watch and wait.

"I'll take first watch," Marc volunteered, while opening a bottle of Coke.

Greg handed a Coke to Bobby, who was already laying across one of the mattresses, on his stomach, reading up on the recent DeMarco/Masucci/Genovese history.

"What time ya' got, Greg?"

"10:10, why?"

Greg watched as Bobby flipped open his temporary cell phone.

"Shit – Deakins was right," Greg teased and walked to join Friedland by the window, affording Bobby some privacy for his call.

xxxxxxxx

Alex had gone home after work - purposely taking a very round-about route, just in case she was being followed. She knew that as of Tuesday, she'd be set up in the ghost apartment and was busy putting some clothes on hangers, covering them in the leftover dry cleaner's plastic she still had in her closet — the idea being that she didn't want to be too noticeable, hauling luggage into the apartment when she got "home" from work Tuesday – so, to anyone watching, she'd just be a regular lady coming home from work after picking up her dry cleaning.

When her ghost phone rang, it startled her.

"Hello?"

"Hey, it's me."

Hearing his voice made her smile. "Hi, you. How'd your day go? Miss me?"

"It went okay. And yes."

"Where _are_ you? I thought for sure you'd be dropping in on me."

Bobby laughed, "The Captain says you're 'off limits' – anyway, I'm with some old friends. Did anything happen today."

"Well, now that you mention it," Alex answered with a taunting tone, as if saying 'I know something you don't know' — she knew if would drive him crazy.

Bobby perked up, rolling off his stomach and swinging his legs around to a sitting position. Greg and Marc read his body language correctly – there must be some news.

Alex could feel his impatience over the phone. "Well, the day went along pretty normally until around 4:30. Then we had some visitors.

"Did Lewis recognize them? Was it the guys from the other night?"

"It was the big guy, himself. He nicely kicked me out of the office so he could talk to Lewis in private. He was there less than ten minutes."

"What did he say?"

"Stuff about Lewis' uncle owing his family money. He told Lewis he wants access to the garage 24/7 and that some people will be picking up and delivering packages for him."

"Any rough stuff?"

"No, just verbally. He tried scaring Lewis...told him something about he hopes he doesn't have to find out how thick his blood is," something like that. That's all Lewis could remember – he was pretty shaken."

"You said "visitors." Who were the other guys?"

"His bodyguards. A couple of big gorillas. They stayed by the front door, then ushered him to the car when he left."

"You All right?"

"I'm fine."

"Good. You take care of yourself – I'll, umm, I'll see ya' tomorrow."

"You're in place?"

"Yup - gonna' sleep here — and I'll be watching, so don't be late for work, Ms. McCarthy – I'll have to report you."

"It's creepy being watched."

"Gee, thanks."

"I mean in general – not by you, in particular."

She heard his snorty chuckle.

"Hey! Aren't you gonna' ask me about the most important thing of all?" she asked.

"What? What'd I miss?"

"What Lewis' face looked like this morning when he realized you double-crossed him," she teased, almost feeling Bobby's smile over the phone. She hung up without telling him.

END Chapter Eight

**A/N: Thanks to all the readers/reviewers. It's much appreciated. Sorry this update took so long. In case anyone didn't know, "Bed-Stuy" is the nickname for Bedford-Stuyvesant; a neighborhood in Brooklyn.**


	9. Chapter 9

1**_PAYBACK_**

**Chapter Nine**

There was no activity all night. Bobby had taken the last shift and the reason "why?" was obvious to Greg and Marc: last shift would bring him into the morning, when Lewis' employees would be arriving for work and he could steal a glimpse of Alex.

He anxiously watched from the window as the vehicular and pedestrian traffic of the new work day increased. Lewis and one of his workers arrived and Bobby watched as he unlocked the door and they entered the building.

He had forgotten to ask Alex about what model car she'd be driving– mostly likely some junky decoy vehicle from the undercover fleet or unclaimed clunker from the City impound yard. He broke out in a smile when he finally saw her arrive– doing a damn fine job of parallel parking, he noted– in a slightly dented, beige Mercury sable. The morning sun made her hair seem blonder; she was in black pants and a red tank top. He felt his pulse quicken as he watched her cross the street and enter the garage. Moments behind her came Morris, along with two other of Lewis' workers.

"Well, everyone's in place," he thought to himself. He kept watching as he grabbed a container of milk and a Nutri-Grain bar for breakfast and settled in the chair. It felt like old times with Greg and Marc. Bobby smiled at the thought; "Damn, I forgot how loud they snored."

xxxxxxxx

Three days had passed and not one eventful thing happened. The highlight of Bobby's days was watching Alex/Allysen come and go from work. He spoke with her nightly –briefly each time, but at least hearing her voice was better than nothing at all.

Unfortunately, the City was in the midst of a heat wave and the temperature in the second story of the damp, musty garage grew almost unbearable during the day. Down on the first floor, there was a small bathroom with the filthiest sink and toilet the guys had ever seen. Bobby wondered how even the cockroaches could stand being in there and the three detectives tried to curtail their bathroom visits until _absolutely_ necessary.

Bobby, Greg and Marc would've gone stir-crazy had it not been for their alternating turns at leaving the stake out to run home and shower, grab clean clothes and some good "take out" to bring back for their meals. Bobby always took his turn in the middle of the night, as there was less of a chance of him and his six foot four inch frame being spotted.

It was midnight on Thursday. He was back at his apartment and had just gotten out of the shower, grudgingly admitting to himself how much better he felt without the three days' worth of stubble on his boyish face. He felt cooler already.

The ring of his ghost cell startled him – he had already spoken with Alex earlier in the evening. He wondered if something had happened and had a hard time controlling the anxious panic in his voice as he answered.

"Hello."

"Bobby, how long will it take ya' to get here?" It was Deakins.

"The office? It's midnight."

"I know what time it is. Where are you?"

"Home –for a shower an' change of clothes."

"Good. You should be able to be here in less than half an hour."

"What's going on, Captain? Is 'Allysen' all right?"

"She's fine. Just get here and I'll fill ya' in."

xxxxxxxxx

The night shift detectives were surprised to see Bobby as he strode through the main corridor and squad room towards Deakins' office. The female detectives were clearly "checking him out," enjoying the rare treat of seeing him in jeans, a black tee-shirt (his souvenir from Raceway Park from the prior weekend, with a checkered-flag logo on the left chest) and moccs without sox. His sunburn had toned down to a healthy-looking tan.

Watching the rear view as Bobby disappeared into Deakins' office, Caroline sighed and turned towards Liz, who was smiling. "Now we _know_ why Eames hasn't dumped him." They each poured a fresh cup of coffee and returned to their desks.

xxxxxxxx

The Captain looked up from his desk. "Good – I'm glad ya' got here before our company arrived," he said, tossing his pen onto the desk and leaning back in his chair.

"What's going on?" Bobby asked, while settling into a chair.

"I got a call from the Commissioner an hour ago — I won't bother tellin' ya' what he interrupted," he said with a smirk. "It seems the Feds are gonna' be joinin' our party."

"The Feds? Why? It'll be a three-ring circus with them movin' in on us!" Bobby exclaimed indignantly.

"They got word from their undercover ops (operatives) in Providence, Rhode Island, that DeMarco contacted the head of the Morelli clan up there two days ago. He's looking to import some "talent" from New England."

"Why do they think that has anything to do with us?"

"I don't know that yet, but that's inter-state; the Feds have jurisdiction now," he said, glancing through the slotted blinds of his office. He saw the two men in black approaching. "Heads up – here's mutt 'n jeff."

Bobby's head pivoted as the Captain's office door swung open. He stood, ready to greet the two Agents.

They introduced themselves, extending handshakes to Deakins. "I'm Agent Warren, this is my partner, Agent Lipinski – F.B.I."

"Jimmy Deakins," was all the Captain said, with a glance quick enough to catch how Bobby had rolled his eyes at the "F.B.I." part —_ as if_ they didn't already know. "This is Detective Goren, Major Case – the lead detective on our operation."

"Until now," Warren flatly stated, while taking a seat.

Bobby had all he could do to control himself.

Warren spoke again, "Why don't you fill us in on what you boys have got."

Deakins spoke, while Bobby paced the office, listening. The Captain recited the entire history of their operation; from the wrongdoings of Walter Kyzinski back in the 1960's, to the DeMarco/Masucci/Genovese connection and right up through today's surveillance, observing, all the while, that Lipinski was taking notes.

"So, you ready to share?" the Captain asked with a smile, leaning back in his chair.

"Not just yet," Warren replied, holding up an index finger.

Bobby disliked the agents from the time they entered the Captain's office; now he was hatin' them– or at least Agent Warren. Bobby didn't appreciate Warren's tone with Deakins– he was flippant– disrespectful – and as far as Bobby was concerned, these Agents didn't out-rank his Captain. "He's my Captain," he thought to himself. "If anybody's gonna' treat him like shit it's gonna' be me!" He stared out the window at the city lights, a smile of embarrassment crossing his lips as the absurdity of his thought finally sank in. He turned his attention back towards the room, as Warren continued speaking.

"How much audio and video do you have?"

Deakins looked at Bobby, who chimed in, "None – from the inside. We have cameras mounted at our stake-out location to see who's coming and going."

Warren didn't attempt to hide his look of disdain as he thought to himself, "amateurs." Bobby easily interpreted the expression.

Bobby was compelled to explain – to defend himself. "It's too dangerous for our people to be wired. If DeMarco and his goons show up and get physical again, they'll find a wire in a second – they'll know Lewis set them up — DeMarco said he'd kill him."

Agent Warren crossed his legs and addressed the Captain, ignoring Bobby who was standing off to the side. "Look, we need audio and video surveillance. We need evidence from the inside. Agent Lipinski and I will join Detective ---- I'm sorry – what was your name? ..."

"Detective Goren," Deakins answered.

"Detective Goren," he smirked "...at the stake-out location. Hopefully, one of your men on the inside will have the ability to _discretely_ install our cameras and 'bugging' devices in Mr. Kyzinski's office before Saturday."

Bobby was sure now: he hated him.

"Why Saturday?" Deakins asked, while Bobby attentively looked on.

"Because Mr. DeMarco is expecting a big delivery on Saturday night. It will be the first of many, we're sure. His friends from Providence will be there to make sure everything goes according to plan," he answered, with a know-it-all smirk crossing his thin lips.

Warren stood and Lipinski followed his lead. "Well, that should wrap things up for tonight, Captain. Thank you for coming out at this time of night to see us."

Warren and Lipinski headed for the door, totally ignoring Bobby. Bobby felt slighted, and rightly so. Deakins stood at his desk, surprised —but grateful, that Bobby had let them get away with it.

"Agent Warren!" Bobby's voice boomed.

Deakins shook his head and lowered it, letting out a sigh. He was afraid of what was coming next. "I knew that was too good to be true," he lamented.

"Tell me, do you know Federal — well, actually _former_ Federal Agent John Hampton? Bobby asked, his head tilted to one side in classic Goren form. A slight smile upturned the corners of his mouth, as he remembered outsmarting and arresting "dirty" Agent Hampton two years prior.

Warren's steel-blue eyes glared back at Bobby. "I know John."

Bobby stood, staring back at Warren and Lipinski, crossing his arms over his broad chest. He inhaled deeply, straightening his back, which seemed to add another inch to his already towering size.

"He, umm, he was one of my most memorable arrests," Bobby said. "If you ever get down to the Federal Penitentiary in Loretto, make sure ya' say 'hi!' for me."

Warren and Lipinski turned heels and stormed off.

Deakins smiled at Bobby. "Ya' think that was a wise move?"

Bobby snorted a chuckle "It never stopped me before."

"You better head back and tell the other guys what's goin' on."

Bobby nodded, "G'night Captain."

"G'night, Bobby."

Bobby pivoted, half-way through the doorway. Deakins noticed and laughed to himself, "Bobby never _can_ just leave a room — there's always one more question or comment that compels him to turn back." The Captain wondered if Bobby had picked up the habit from watching too many episodes of _Columbo _when he was a kid.

"Hey, Cap – you wanna' grab a beer?"

Deakins smiled, "Some other time, maybe – I told Cathy to wait up for me," he answered with a wink.

END Chapter Nine


	10. Chapter 10

PAYBACK _Chapter Ten_

**Friday – 1:10 a.m**.

Bobby still wanted to blow off some steam after his meeting with Deakins and the Feds. It was just past 1:00 a.m. and, comfortable with the fact that his old buddies, White and Friedland, could handle the stakeout, he decided to stop by Carucci's for a quick beer to readjust his attitude. The usually packed bar was dim and quiet, with but a few patrons scattered about the barstools, none of whom he recognized.

He was annoyed at having the Feds butt in but had to face the fact that there was nothing he could do about it. Happy that he at least got in one parting shot, Bobby decided to turn his thoughts to more productive things: like figuring out DeMarco's next step; what the big shipment on Saturday could be and, most important, making sure that Lewis, Alex and Dave were kept out of harm's way during all of it. Gulping the last couple of ounces left in his bottle, he swung off the stool, laid a tip on the bar and headed back to the stakeout location to fill his new partners in on the events of the evening.

**2:00 a.m**.

Greg White sat near the window of the dark attic space, binoculars at the ready, looking for any signs of activity on the block, while Marc Friedland was sprawled on an air mattress, reading up, by flashlight, on the recent history of the Masucci family. Bobby had parked more than a block away and White, who was at first startled by the approaching figure, relaxed when he recognized it was Bobby. He turned to his partner and announced, "Goren's back."

" 'Bout time. I was startin' to wonder if he sneaked off to spend the night with his lady friend," Friedland chuckled.

The door swung open and, after giving himself a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, Bobby stepped over Friedland, tossed his keys on the table and flopped down on the air mattress with an exasperated sigh.

White and Friedland looked on, waiting for the explanation for Bobby's "down" mood.

"We're having company tomorrow," Bobby said.

"Who? We've got enough guys from the Task Force on this," Friedland objected.

Bobby rubbed a hand through his hair, then both hands over his face, letting out another sigh. "Not the Task Force – the Feds."

The three men exchanged a glance, but White and Friedland remained silent, waiting for Bobby to continue.

"Captain Deakins got called in from home tonight – I had to meet him at the office. It seems the Feds have been keepin' an eye on the Masucci's too – among others. Two guys from the F.B.I. just met with us. They got word from one of their sources that Carmine DeMarco made some calls to the Morelli family up in Providence…"

"That's interstate – that's why," White interjected.

Bobby nodded. "The Morelli people are bringing a shipment to DeMarco on Saturday—it's gonna' be delivered to Lewis' garage."

"So the bust is goin' down on Saturday?" Friedland asked.

"It doesn't seem so from the way they spoke. The one guy – Agent Warren – he plans on having Alex or Dave install audio and video surveillance on the _inside_ before Saturday.

Friedland looked at Bobby, eyebrows raised.

"I already told 'em that our people aren't wearin' wires – it's too dangerous. They'll probably just want mini-cameras and microphones around Lewis' office and the bay.

White grabbed a Coke from the fridge and returned to his seat by the window. "If they're just installing surveillance, they must still be trying to build their case – they're after a bigger fish."

Bobby nodded in concurrence. "Let's just keep on our toes around these guys – I wanna' be a step ahead of 'em."

"Uh-oh," White groaned. "I know what that means," he said with a smirk towards Bobby.

Friedland smiled and nodded, "Look guys, I don't like it any more than you do – the Feds are gonna' piss on our turf and there's nothing we can do about it."

Bobby, head cocked to one side, shot him a mischievous grin and shrugged his shoulders. "Well, we can at least try to have some fun with 'em."

"Look, Bobby," Friedland warned, holding his hands up, "I don't know how much free rein Captain Deakins gives you at Major Case, but Greg and I are in a different position now – the Mayor's office and our boss at the Task Force aren't gonna' take any crap from us. We gotta' walk the straight and narrow or we'll be out on our asses."

"You got that right," Greg said with a huff. "The good old days of the Narco squad are long gone, my friend."

"Yeah, and just remember Bobby," Friedland warned, "When you're a step ahead of somebody, you've gotta' watch your back."

"That's what you guys are here for, right?" Bobby grinned.

**Simultaneously 2:00 a.m.**

**Vincenzo's Restaurant, Brooklyn**

Half a dozen men surrounded Carmine DeMarco around the private table. DeMarco emptied his wine glass and, displaying his typical rudeness and impatience, snapped his fingers, summoning a hulking bodyguard from the darkness of the corner where he was standing. The guard removed an envelope from the breast pocket of his suit jacket and handed it to DeMarco. As the guard retreated, DeMarco snapped again – he needed a light for his cigar.

The men seated at the table didn't dare show their displeasure at the overpowering aroma, as DeMarco puffed and spewed a billowing cloud of smoke, which lazily swirled and drifted around their heads.

"The shipment is scheduled to arrive at midnight on Saturday. You're positive that everything will go as planned?"

"Yes, sir. It's all been arranged."

"Good," DeMarco said. That's what he verbalized, anyway. As he stared at the man across the table in the dark blue suit, the message conveyed by his black, cold eyes was something different. His eyes were saying, "It damned well _better_, or else."

DeMarco extended his arm, handing the envelope to the blue-suited man. A sarcastic smile washed over his lips. "It's been a pleasure dealing with you, Agent Warren."

END Chapter Ten

**A/N: Sincere apologies for the long delay between updates. The past couple of months have been horrendous--- professionally and personally (except for one happy event: I got engaged on New Year's Eve!). Things are getting back to normal, so I once again have time for my hobbies. Thanks to all the readers/reviewers who have stuck w/ this story. It's greatly appreciated**.


	11. Chapter 11

PAYBACK _Chapter Eleven_

**Friday – 6:00 a.m.**

Bobby had tossed and turned most of the night, finding it too difficult to "turn off" his always-thinking brain. White and Friedland had both taken their turns at surveillance and Bobby was glad when his shift finally arrived at 5:00 a.m. He had been tempted to call Alex, but thought better of waking her at that hour. Watching as the morning sun finally began washing over the narrow street, he checked his watch.

"Six o'clock. That's enough beauty sleep for you, Eames," he sighed to himself, while digging his ghost-cell from his jeans and dialing.

"Hello," her groggy voice moaned.

"Hey, it's me."

"Hey you. What time is it?"

"Six."

"Well, what's up?"

"I wanted to give ya' a heads up. The Feds are joinin' the party."

"Why? What's goin' on?" she asked, sounding more alert.

"They came and met with Deakins and me last night. They got word that DeMarco contacted some boys from out of State—Rhode Island. They're bringin' a shipment at midnight on Saturday."

"They know what it is?"

"They may or may not… the lead guy's a real asshole…he wasn't too willing to share."

"So they're gonna' take over and handle the bust? That should make Lewis feel better."

"W-w-well, they didn't mention the bust goin' down. They're more interested in surveillance an…"

"What'd ya mean no bust!" Alex demanded. "They can nail these guys red-handed on Saturday night!"

"I-I know…but, they must be after more. They want cameras and mics on the inside. They expect you or Dave to install 'em."

Bobby heard Alex's sigh of resignation. He was just as frustrated.

"I just wanted to fill ya' in. I'd better go."

"Thanks. You know how I hate surprises," she said with a slight chuckle.

Bobby lowered his voice to a whisper, not wanting White and Friedland to overhear, in case they weren't sleeping. "Hey 'Allysen'?

"Yeah?"

"I miss you."

"Me too," she whispered back and hung up the phone.

**Friday, 7:20 a.m**.

Two men sat in the black sedan outside Alex/'Allysen's' decoy apartment, parked directly behind her vehicle.

In the hallway, 'Allysen' double checked that she had locked her apartment door, patted her right ankle, making sure that her .22 was secure, and headed for work. As she bounded down the stairs, she couldn't help but notice the car – it stuck out like a sore thumb. She could barely keep the smirk from her lips as she muttered to herself, "Geez, guys…why don't ya' just hang a flag on the antennae that says "We're the F.B.I.?"

As she neared her car, the passenger door of the sedan swung open and Agent Warren stepped out.

"Excuse me!" he called, holding up his index finger as he approached.

He lowered his voice, "Detective Eames?" he asked, while grabbing his lapel and opening his jacket to flash his shield."

She gave him a slight nod, while looking to her left and right, wondering if any of the neighbors were watching.

"Please," he said, extending his hand towards her car. "Let's talk for a minute."

Alex unlocked the passenger door and Agent Warren slipped in. As she rounded the car and reached the driver's door, she found it still locked as the agent sat, smugly, waiting for her to join him. She mumbled to herself again, "Hmmm, some gentleman…couldn't even reach across and pop the button for me…Bobby _was_ right, this guy _is_ an ass."

Alex settled in the driver's seat and turned to face Agent Warren, tossing her head towards the rear window. "You think we should be meeting like this," she asked sarcastically. "You and your partner in that car aren't exactly subtle."

"Don't concern yourself with it, Detective," he answered flatly. "People in neighborhoods like this might be poor, but they're not stupid. They know what they're supposed to see and what they're not. They know how to keep their mouths shut."

"Well, what can I do for you? I'm gonna' be late for work," she said with a phony smile.

Agent Warren reached into his jacket and pulled out a small plastic container. He slid open the top and removed two push-pins, holding them in his palm for her to see. "These are wireless devices, Detective. The black ones are the microphones, the clear ones are cameras. There are six more in this container. They're to be placed in Mr. Kyzinski's office and on opposite walls of the garage. Think you can handle it," he asked, sarcastically.

"I think I can manage," she answered, with a smirk and added, "If I can't figure it out, you'll be the first one I call."

Warren reached for the door handle, half-exited the vehicle, but turned back towards Alex. "You can forget the wisecracks, Detective. Just get them installed ASAP. We'll be monitoring."

He caught Alex rolling her eyes as he bent over, looking into the car. "By the way, Detective, you didn't seem too surprised to see us."

"A little birdie told me you'd be coming," she answered, tilting her head and giving him a fake grin.

Agent Warren nodded and slammed the door. "_Big Bird_ is more like it," he muttered to himself as he headed back to the sedan.

**Friday, 7:45 a.m**.

White had woken up and put on a fresh pot of coffee. He joined Bobby by the window while waiting for it to finish brewing, noticing that Bobby seemed nervous.

"What time is it?" Bobby asked anxiously.

"Seven forty-five. Why? Got a date?" White teased.

Bobby shook his head. "No. Alex should've pulled up fifteen minutes ago. It's not like her to be late." Bobby diverted his eyes for a few seconds to take the mug of coffee Greg was offering and, upon peering back out the window, saw Alex's car pull up. He breathed a sigh of relief. "Here she is."

The two Detectives watched as Alex entered the garage. Seconds later, an unmarked van pulled into a parking space about 100 feet down the block. Bobby and Greg grabbed their binoculars to investigate.

"These the guys we're expectin'," Greg asked.

"Could be. Let's keep an eye on 'em," Bobby said.

After another ten minutes, the doors to the van opened. Agent Warren and Agent Lipinski, now clad in dark blue coveralls bearing the logo of some make-believe plumbing company, exited the cab. Each was carrying a large metallic case which, Bobby surmised, must be their portable surveillance equipment.

"Yeah," Bobby sighed. That's them."

Bobby and Greg continued watching as the men approached. Greg placed his mug on the windowsill and turned to Bobby. "I'll run downstairs and let 'em in."

Bobby sighed and stretched, listening to the footsteps of the three men as they ascended the stops to the loft. He was dreading spending the day in Warren's company.

The noisy chatter of the Detective and Agents as they entered the room roused Marc Friedland from his sleep. He bolted upright at the commotion, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, finally realizing he could relax when Greg began making the introductions.

Warren circled the room, taking in the equipment and amenities. He walked to the window and looked out across the street at Lewis' garage. Talking to no one in particular, he said, "Smells good." He turned towards Bobby, then tossed his head in the direction of the coffee pot. "Hey, Green, how 'bout a cup of coffee?"

Greg and Marc exchanged a glance, silently thinking, "Who the hell is Green?"

Bobby smiled, pretending to take Warren's intentional barb in stride. He poured a mug full of the aromatic, steaming hot coffee, emptying the pot.

Agent Warren held out his hand as Bobby walked towards him, holding not only the coffee, but a chocolate Entenmann's donut.

Bobby, still smiling, walked straight past Warren over to Marc Friedland and handed him his breakfast.

"Sorry, _Warrick_. We're umm, we're all out."

END Chapter Eleven


	12. Chapter 12

PAYBACK _Chapter Twelve_

**Friday – 4:15 p.m.**

As unbelievable as it seemed to Bobby, aside from the "coffee episode" earlier in the morning, the rest of the day passed by quickly, without further incident between him and Agent Warren – probably because they just avoided talking to each other. Warren had his little tagalong, Agent Lipinski, put on a fresh pot, while he set up their surveillance equipment. Bobby could feel Warren growing impatient while waiting for Alex to install the cameras and mics, and couldn't help but wonder if Alex was taking her sweet time just to bust his balls.

"Yeah," Bobby chuckled to himself…I bet that's it. Way to go, Alex…that's my girl."

But, by 9:00 a.m. images and sounds had begun being transmitted to the Agents' equipment and Bobby couldn't resist hanging over their shoulders so he could catch the conversations and see Alex in action on her new job. Even though they weren't together, it made Bobby feel better just seeing her. As a matter of fact, the "rush" he felt from the voyeurism surprised him—maybe even worried him a little, so he made a mental note to himself: "…think I'll do some research on the psychological pathologies of peeping toms."

He fought hard to fight back little chuckles at some of the comments that Lewis and Alex shared throughout the day, determined not to let on how much he was enjoying the show. But Agent Warren –well, he was a prick, but he wasn't stupid or oblivious: he knew Bobby was 'into' his partner.

The Agents and Detectives watched as Lewis' employees began filtering out of the garage, heading for their cars or walking to the nearest subway station for the trip home.

Marc Friedland checked his watch. "What's up with this? It's only 4:15," he asked with some concern in his voice.

Bobby, who was wearing a self-satisfied grin at the fact that he had jumped into Warren's vacant chair while the Agent made a bathroom run, just shook his head to indicate it was nothing. "It's nothin', Marc. Lewis lets his guys out a little early on Fridays during the summer."

All that remained in the garage were Lewis, Alex and Dave.

The cameras in Lewis' office had all three of them in view, and the men listened intently to the audio feed.

"You guys want a beer?" Lewis offered.

Alex smiled while Dave chimed in, "Just a Coke for me, Lewis."

Lewis chuckled, "I keep forgettin' you guys are on duty…it feels like ya' really work here for me."

"Yeah, except we're only getting' _one_ paycheck for our double duty," Alex complained.

Lewis laughed and he handed them each a Coke, then twisted the cap off a Coors for himself.

"Speaking of checks," Alex said, "I reconciled your bank statement and your checkbook is balanced –to the penny." She was grinning, satisfied with her accomplishment – it had taken her most of the afternoon.

Lewis laughed, "I gave up on _that_ months ago."

"Well, if you promise to keep on top of it after I'm gone, I'll spare you the embarrassment of asking about your debit card and what all those extra video charges were in your motel in Point Pleasant," Alex threatened with a sarcastic grin. She was doubly satisfied, because she knew Bobby was listening.

Lewis actually blushed and downed the remainder of his beer. He walked to the corkboard and stood in front of the "special" push-pins that Alex had pointed out to him earlier, and began 'mugging' for the camera, "Bobby, we're busted, man!" he laughed and snorted.

Across the street, observing, the guys (even Warren) laughed at Lewis' goofy antics while Bobby's cheeks blushed.

**5:00 p.m.**

The guys were still monitoring but kinda' getting weary from the waiting. (As far as Bobby, White and Friedland were concerned, they were seven hours away from the delivery being made; seven hours away from any action).

Warren turned to the men and suggested, "Why don't you guys go grab some dinner? You'll be back in plenty of time for the drop."

Friedland and White looked at each other, with a shrug of their shoulders.

"Sounds good," Marc said. "I know I could use a break from this scenery."

White concurred.

Warren, in a voice of false concern, which Bobby easily read, said, "What about you, Robby? You hungry?"

Bobby shook his head, thinking to himself, "Don't call me Robby," but verbally responded, "The guys will bring me back something. I'm too noticeable – especially if the Masucci's are watching. I usually don't go out 'til after dark."

"Suit yourself," Warren answered. He looked out the window, so no one would see the slight smile on his lips. He thought to himself, "this is going right according to plan…got rid of those two idiots and we've got the big guy all to ourselves."

Friedland and White headed towards the door, with Marc asking, "What'd ya' want Bobby? Another burger?"

"No, ummm, how 'bout a chicken parm hero…and pick up some more sodas for the fridge," he said, handing Marc a twenty.

"You got it, bud," he said to Bobby, then called to the Agents, "Anything for you guys?"

"Nah, thanks," Warren said. We'll go when you guys get back."

"Okay – we'll be back in an hour or so."

The two Detectives left and Bobby rejoined the Agents by the monitors.

"You been together long?" Warren asked.

"A little over five years," Bobby answered, not really caring to make small talk.

"I don't think I could do it – work with a woman, I mean," Warren said, shaking his head.

"She's a great Detective. I don't have a problem with it." That was the matter-of-fact answer that Bobby gave, but in his head he was thinking, "I'd never wanna' work with anyone else…nobody's like Alex…she's the one who stayed…and understands me and puts up with me…I—I love her."

Little did Bobby know at the time, but over the next forty-eight hours, it would be exactly that: the excellent detective skills of Alexandra Eames that would save his life.

END Chapter Twelve.


	13. Chapter 13

PAYBACK _ChapterThirteen_

**Friday – 5:25 p.m.**

Bobby and the Agents remained by the monitors, entertained by the relaxed banter among Alex, Lewis and Dave. Bobby almost felt a pang of jealousy. He missed working side-by-side with Alex. Even though their days were usually hectic, they always found time to enjoy each other's company over a quick lunch. Friday nights were usually reserved for some after-work drinks at Carucci's or just kicking back at Alex's apartment, but tonight there'd be none of that. Yes, Bobby was actually looking forward to wrapping up this operation and getting back to life as usual.

Bobby continued watching as Alex and the guys began shutting off the computer, turning out the office lights and locking up. Lewis was heading home for the night; and, after a quick dinner break, Alex and Dave were supposed to join up with a couple of the Task Force guys in another monitoring van up the block for night surveillance.

**5:30 p.m.**

Agent Warren checked his watch and shot a knowing glance at Agent Lipinski. "Show time," he muttered, in barely a whisper.

Bobby's voice broke the silence, "Whoa, whoa, what the hell is this?" His adrenaline was already flowing.

Warren and Lipinski joined him at the window, each remembering to grab his binoculars, even if just for "show" purposes.

The three of them watched as two black, unmarked vans pulled into Lewis' driveway, blocking the bay doors.

"They've both got Rhode Island plates," Bobby exclaimed, unable to contain the excitement in his voice. "They're way too ahead of schedule. Looks like your informant gave you some bad information," he said, with a sideways glance at Warren. He wished there was time to warn Alex, Dave and Lewis of the approaching danger, but four large men had already exited the vans and were entering the front door of the garage.

"Just keep cool, guys," he thought to himself, quickly rounding the desk so he could observe the action on the monitors, "We're watchin' ya'." He wished that Greg and Dave were there for extra back up.

Warren and Lipinski remained at the window, watching. Within a few seconds, they heard Bobby's voice.

"What the hell?"

The Agents next heard Bobby's fist banging the monitors.

"Warren! What the hell's going on here?" his voice demanded, panic setting in.

He banged the monitors again. All he saw was static-snow. The transmission was lost.

Warren rounded the desk, while Lipinski stayed back. He banged them, too, and played with a couple of dials, also "for show." (What Bobby didn't know is that when Warren set up the surveillance monitors in the morning, he had installed a timing device to cut off the receiver power at precisely 5:30 p.m. For Warren, everything was going right according to plan).

Still nothing on the screens. "These guys might've been prepared," Warren offered, as if concerned. "If they suspected any bugging devices, they could've brought something to interfere – jam the receiver," he lied to cover his own deception.

Bobby walked swiftly back to the windows, joined by Agent Warren. Worry and panic were growing in his gut; he didn't like this _one bit_.

Several minutes passed. No activity could be seen.

"What the _hell_ is goin' on in there", he asked rhetorically.

In a split second, his hand was yanking the Glock from the holster. "That was a gun shot!" he shouted as he turned and headed for the stairway. "C'mon!" he yelled to the two Agents.

Warren and Lipinski, at a much slower pace, trotted behind Bobby. Behind his back, Bobby couldn't see the evil sneer on Warren's face. Bobby was out the door and half-way across the street, while the Agents lagged behind, still in the stairway.

"I knew he wouldn't be able to resist playing 'hero'," he gloated. "He's running right into their arms."

Lipinski didn't return his grin. Fear and hesitancy were written all over his face.

"C'mon, Lipinski …our part of the "delivery" is almost complete."

**5:41 p.m.**

Bobby had taken cover against the garage, avoiding the window and pressing his back against the thick cement wall. His face almost bore a look of disbelief at the slowness of the two Agents who were just now jogging across the street to catch up to him.

Gun drawn and steadied with both hands, Bobby inched towards the door and slowly, gingerly tested the handle; it wasn't locked. He quickly rotated his body to get to the other side of the doorway and tossed his head towards the inside, signaling to Warren and Lipinski that he was ready to burst in –and that they should be ready to provide him with back up.

"Now!" he mouthed to the Agents, as he swung the door with a crashing bang and rushed into the garage. "Police and F.B.I.! Freeze!" his voice boomed.

As any cop knows, when bursting into a scene like that you've gotta' be prepared, because you never know what you're gonna' find on the other side of the door and you've got only a split second to react.

What Bobby wasn't expecting was the scene before his eyes: Lewis laid on the floor, wrists, ankles and mouth bound with duct tape; Alex and Dave, side-by-side, mouths duct-taped, with their arms behind them—Bobby assumed their wrists were similarly bound. One of the men from the vans was holding a gun, aimed at Alex and Dave. The other three stood by, nonchalantly, one of them even smoking a cigarette.

Throwing a quick glance over each shoulder, Bobby caught Warren and Lipinski out of the corners of his eyes, giving him reassurance that his back-up was right there behind him.

He was steadily aiming at the gunman with his two-handed grip. "Drop the weapon and get down on the floor!" Bobby commanded. The four men remained as they were.

His eyes met with Alex's for an instant; his look trying to reassure her that everything would be all right, but the message that her eyes returned conveyed anything but.

She was watching the events unfold with utter disbelief and fear – fear for the well-being of her partner at this instant. Fear for herself, Lewis and Dave was secondary. She widened her eyes, trying to warn Bobby, but it was too late.

Bobby's body went rigid as he felt the barrel of a gun pressed against the back of his head.

"I think it's you who should drop his weapon, Detective Goren," Warren sneered.

Bobby didn't move, at first. His mind was racing, as he silently put the pieces together, coming to the quick realization of what was happening. "It's all been a set up…I'm outnumbered six to one…he got rid of White and Friedland on purpose…the monitors went out on purpose…the gunshot, but nobody's wounded…they wanted to draw _me_ in here…"

"Drop the gun, Goren, or I waste you, here and now," Warren threatened.

Bobby looked at Alex and Dave, then at Lewis and lowered his arms, defeated; his gun now dangling loosely in his left hand. Warren nodded at Lipinski, who approached Bobby and took the gun from his hand, then proceeded to handcuff Bobby.

"You can't think you're gonna' get away with this, Warren."

"That's not your problem, Goren. You've got a bigger problem on your hands _now_, don't ya' think?" he chuckled, mockingly. "Besides, there aren't going to be any witnesses…eventually…so, in answer to your question: yes, I promise you we're gonna' get away with it."

Warren stepped closer. "Get down!" he barked, as he kicked the backs of Bobby's knees, causing his legs to buckle. Bobby went down to the floor, coming to rest on his knees and shins.

The biggest guy of the four, the one who had been smoking, slowly walked over to Bobby and crouched before him. He held up the glowing stub of the cigarette, which he had smoked almost down to the filter.

The man aiming the gun and Alex and Dave finally spoke; apparently, he was the head of their crew. "I think you should put that thing out…you're stinkin' up the joint," he said with an evil chuckle.

The big man laughed but kept staring into Bobby's eyes as he slowly, firmly pressed the burning butt into the side of Bobby's neck.

It burned and stung, but Bobby wouldn't make a noise; he wouldn't give Warren or the rest of them the satisfaction.

Alex turned away, unable to watch.

Disappointed at having gotten no real reaction, the big man stood. "That's okay," he patronized Bobby, "By the time I'm done with you, you'll be squealing like the pig you are." He walked over to Lewis' workbench and grabbed a breaker bar. Standing behind Bobby, he swung with all his might.

The noise was sickening. Alex, Dave and Lewis looked on, horrified, as Bobby toppled over onto the cold cement floor, as blood began running from the wound.

"Open the bay doors, pull those vans in and get these idiots loaded in," the gunman shouted. "We're running short on time."

**5:55 p.m**.

Once the vans were pulled into the garage, four metal suitcases were unloaded and placed in Lewis' office.

Lewis watched the men walking back and forth, trying to remember their characteristics; no one used names. He was terrified for his friends and wasn't exactly thrilled with his own predicament. He continued watching as Alex and Dave were put into the back of one of the vans.

"Blindfold them for the trip," the head man ordered.

It took three of the men to lift Bobby and unceremoniously toss him into the back of the second van.

One of the men yelled to the boss of the crew, tossing his head in Lewis' direction, "What about this one?"

"Leave him there," the boss answered. "Mr. DeMarco still needs him."

It was a small relief to Lewis.

He watched as the men climbed into the vans and backed out of the garage. One of them returned to close the bay doors and Lewis concentrated on listening to the roar of the engines as both vans sped away.

He rolled and managed to get to his feet and, unsteady as he was, hopped to his office. He remembered the warnings from DeMarco's henchmen, 'no cops, or we'll kill you,' but Lewis wasn't afraid of that threat anymore. His friends were in deep trouble. He used his head to knock the telephone receiver from the cradle, then used his nose to press 9-1-1.

**6:09 p.m**.

White and Friedland jogged up the stairs, White holding a bag with two six packs of Coke; Friedland carrying Bobby's dinner.

"Hey guys!" Marc said, then stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of the empty room.

White was right behind him. "Where is everybody?" he wondered aloud.

"They ain't all down in the bathroom, I can tell ya' that," Friedland answered. His attempt at humor did nothing to dispel the knot of foreboding in his gut.

"Look at that!" White said, pointing to the "snowy" monitors.

"This isn't right," he muttered while striding over to the window and grabbing a pair of binoculars.

"Greg, take a look at this," Friedland said, while handing the binoculars to White.

"Am I missing something?"

"C'mon Greg, we've been staring across the street all week. Look harder."

Friedland watched White as the recognition set in.

"The door…it's dented. That dent wasn't there before," White said.

"And the tire marks in the street in front of the bay doors…they weren't there before either. Somebody left in a hurry. Let's go check it out."

The two men trotted back down the stairs, discretely drawing their weapons as they crossed the street and approached the garage.

Almost with exact mimicry of how Bobby had approached the garage earlier, Friedland followed in his footsteps, right down to testing the door handle and finding it unlocked.

He slowly pushed the door open, White following close behind.

Friedland held a hand up, halting White in his tracks. "You hear that?" he whispered.

The two listened intently, simultaneously arriving at the conclusion that sounds were coming from Lewis' office.

With weapons at the ready, they slowly approached the office door, almost giving Lewis a heart attack at the sight of two more armed men on his premises. (As ridiculous as it would later seem to him, the thought _did _cross his mind at the time that DeMarco and his men somehow knew that Lewis had dialed 9-1-1 and that the two men had come to kill him).

Friedland and White lowered their weapons and holstered them. Marc flashed his badge as he walked towards Lewis and reached for the duct tape covering his mouth.

"Hold still," Friedland said, as he ripped the tape off with a quick yank.

"Ouch!" Lewis yelled, as he rubbed his hand over his mouth.

"Where are Alex and Bobby?"

"A bunch of guys came and took them," Lewis blurted out, breathlessly. "Two black vans. They knocked Bobby out…he was bleedin'. Alex and Dave were tied up. They put 'em in the back of one of the vans…then threw Bobby in the back of the other and drove off." He tossed his head towards the phone, "I called 9-1-1."

"What about the two F.B.I. guys? Did they take them too?"

"There were two guys that came in with Bobby. They weren't one of the good guys though…the one guy, he's the one that made Bobby drop his gun, he was holdin' a gun to his head."

White had retrieved a pair of scissors from the desk and had freed Lewis' hands and ankles.

They heard the sirens approaching outside. (Obviously, even though Lewis couldn't speak when he called, they were able to trace the number of origin of the call and dispatch a unit to his address).

"How long ago did this happen?"

"Fifteen, twenty minutes," Lewis told them. "They headed north up the block. They had Rhode Island license plates."

"The bastards set us up," White said. "This hadda' be scheduled. Warren got rid of us at dinner time on purpose."

"We've gotta' call Command…and Major Case."

"They left those four cases," Lewis said, pointing at the corner.

The two Detectives met with the Officers from the responding unit and quickly explained the circumstances. They put out an A.P.B. and called a field unit to see if they could lift any prints from the cases.

As the patrol car pulled away, Friedland reached into his pocket and removed a quarter. "I'll flip ya," he said to White. "Loser gets to call Deakins."

END Chapter Thirteen


	14. Chapter 14

PAYBACK _Chapter Fourteen_

**Friday – 6:30 p.m. – Major Case Squad**

The Detectives in the squad room jumped and turned heads, startled by the outburst of expletives coming from Captain Deakins' office.

Inside the office, Deakins slammed the receiver down. "God damn it!"

He strode from behind his desk to his open office door. All eyes in the squad room were already upon him as he announced, "All right, everybody, listen up! The stake out that Goren, Eames and Morris were on went bad. They were abducted at gunpoint about forty-five minutes ago; two black vans with Rhode Island plates. Detectives Friedland and White from the Task Force already put out an A.P.B. and called in the boys from the lab…"

"What about witnesses?" one of the Detectives asked, interrupting Deakins. "What happened to their backup? I thought the Feds were runnin' the show."

Deakins' face grew dimmer as he answered, "The Feds were in on it."

The roomful of Detectives looked at each other with astonishment and then back at Deakins. Disbelief and anger at the betrayal were written all over their faces.

Deakins continued, "Everybody just drop whatever you were doing. We're all workin' on this until we get 'em back. There'll be a briefing at 9 p.m."

**7:10 p.m.**

Friedland and White were still at Lewis' garage, watching the lab guys finish up. They had dusted the metal cases for prints and had come up with six different sets. They also lifted a print from the breaker bar that the big guy had used to knock out Bobby.

Watching as a lab technician bagged the cigarette butt he had found on the floor, Lewis said, "That's the cigarette he burned Bobby with."

The Tech shot a sickened look at Lewis, then at Greg and Marc. "We should be able to get DNA from the filter."

In the meantime, a crew from Narcotics had arrived and was inspecting the cases left in Lewis' office. Three of them were packed with plastic bags containing cocaine; the fourth held approximately one and a half million dollars in cash. Ultimately, it was up to the man in charge of The Mayor's Task Force to make the call on how things would be handled:

Option 1: Tracking devices could be installed in the cases and arrests made when they reached their final destination, which the cops were sure, would be Carmine DeMarco;

Option 2: Confiscate the drugs, refill the cases with fake packets, mark all the bills, install tracking devices and, once again, follow them straight to DeMarco;

(or, since the cops didn't know what time Masucci's men were supposed to pick up the "delivery")

Option 3: Operate under the assumption that the Masucci's were watching. After all, there were Police vehicles all over the block and officers and lab techs streaming in and out of the garage. Under this option, the drugs and money would be confiscated and Lewis would be taken into protective custody. This raised the danger of infuriating DeMarco, thereby raising the danger to the hostages, but it was the only option: Lewis was a civilian citizen and had to be protected. The fate of Alex, Bobby and Dave would be left to the combined efforts of the Task Force, the "clean" F.B.I. agents and their buddies at Major Case.

**7:30 p.m.**

Alex and Dave sat on the floor of the van. They had guessed, correctly, that they had been driving for more than an hour, but had no idea in which direction, only assuming because of the license plates they'd seen, that it was north—back to Rhode Island.

They had rubbed their heads against each other's shoulder and had worked the blindfolds off, discovering that there were two small moon windows towards the rear, on either side of the van, that had been covered with black window tinting. The back doors were solid; no windows. The wire mesh divider between the cab and cargo compartments had been blocked off with a piece of plywood.

Alex and Dave inched closer to the cab, pressing their ears against the wood in an attempt to see if they could overhear any conversation between the men. With all the road noise, it was difficult to hear, but every now and then they'd catch a few words. They each concentrated, trying to detect any distinctive scents, but there were none.

**Simultaneously at 7:30 p.m.**

Bobby's ride was much shorter. He had arrived at his destination, still unconscious, by 6:35 p.m. The van pulled into the warehouse and his limp body was dragged to the place he now was. They had removed his handcuffs and, instead, bound his wrists in front of him with heavy gauge wire, wrapped around and around in a tight "figure eight." They had removed his shoes, socks, jeans, underwear and had torn the tee-shirt from his body. He laid naked, on the cold, wet cement floor. The now-coagulated blood from his head wound was matted in his hair and streaks of dried blood stained his face and neck.

The men had only two more instructions to complete, in order to receive their $250,000.00 fee: (1) to torture Detective Goren for forty-eight hours; and (2) to kill him and make sure the body, or what's left of it, would _never_ be found.

Those were Mr. DeMarco's explicit instructions.

The men in the room had every intention of giving DeMarco every penny's worth.

**8:05 p.m.**

The cab had been quiet for the past half-hour, although Alex and Dave still strained to hear.

"We're in deep shit here," Dave said, stating the obvious.

"Gee, ya' think?" Alex answered sarcastically, trying to sound tough, rather than letting her worry and fear for Bobby and themselves be evident.

Dave realized the stupidity of his statement but attributed it to "nerves."

"I wonder how Bobby is?" he asked. "I wonder if the second van is in front of us or behind us. Maybe when we get to wherever we're going, they'll put us together and we'll be able to take care of him," he suggested, trying to give Alex hope.

"I wouldn't count on it, Dave…" Alex warned. "I think they're…"

Alex was cut off by the sudden swaying of the van, causing her to crash into Dave. Then yelling came from the cab. They both pressed their ears against the wood and listened.

"…what are you? A friggin' idiot? That's all we need is some friggin' cop stoppin' us 'cause we're on the goddamn parkway with a commercial…."

The next sound Alex and Dave heard was music to their ears: Screaming Police sirens.

"We could've caught a lucky break here, Dave," Alex said with excitement. "Be prepared," she said, as she scooted on her butt from the forward part of the cabin towards the rear doors.

Dave followed suit.

"We've gotta' warn this cop," Dave said, as they felt the van slow down and pull towards the right. "These guys have a lot to lose –they may not wanna' go easy."

Alex nodded in concurrence but added, "Not yet, though. He's at a crucial point of a motor vehicle stop. If we start kicking these doors and makin' a lot of noise, he'll be distracted…we can't afford to have him take his eyes off these guys for a _second_."

They next heard the cop's command over the loudspeaker: "Driver! Turn off the ignition and _slowly_ place both hands out the window!"

The cop had apparently called for back-up, because a second set of sirens approached and they hear tires screech to a halt.

"Passenger! Slowly exit the vehicle with your hands locked behind your head. Walk backwards towards my voice. Okay, stop right there and get down on your knees…now down on your stomach…now cross your ankles."

The officer who had made the stop kept his weapon pointed at the cab, while his back-up cuffed the passenger and sat him in the back of his car.

Next, it was the driver's turn, and once Alex and Dave overheard that he was safely in custody, they began kicking at the back doors of the van and alternately yelling, "NYPD…let us out!"

**8:25 p.m**.

Bobby fought hard to open his eyes. His head was pounding. He was cold. He felt concrete and gravel…or something gritty, down the entire length of his body. "Am I naked?" he asked himself, still too groggy for it to all make sense. It took him a few minutes to remember the events leading up to this point. He continued to try to force his eyelids open –and they would, for a fleeting second at a time. Each time, he'd inventory what he saw through his blurry vision: "brick walls…a light bulb…just hanging on wires…something shiny…people…I can't see their faces…the smell…damp…"

He heard voices, but he couldn't make out what they were saying.

"Eames?"

He wasn't sure if he said it aloud. He again passed out.

**8:30 p.m**.

Deakins jumped when his phone rang. He dreaded a phone call that would bring bad news. He took a deep breath and answered.

"Deakins."

"Captain, Dave and I are all right."

"Alex!" he shouted. "Where are you? What about Bobby?"

"We're on I-95 in Connecticut. Cops pulled the van over on a moving violation. They arrested the two guys that took Dave and me, but they say they didn't see another black van traveling near us. I don't know where Bobby is. They're arranging for a ride back for us."

"That's good, Alex."

"How's Lewis?" she asked.

"He's okay. The Task Force put him in protective custody. The delivery was three case loads of cocaine and over a million bucks cash."

"Our ride's here Cap – gotta' go."

"Okay."

"Captain," her voice quivered, but she choked back the tears. "Bobby's hurt….he…"

"I know Alex, Lewis told us….but don't worry…the whole squad's working on it…we'll get him back," he assured.

Alex nodded and tried to manage a smile, even though Deakins couldn't see it. She appreciated his encouraging words. "See ya' soon."

She handed the cell phone back to Trooper Kelly and joined Dave in the back seat of the Crown Vic that had been sent to take them home.

Trooper Kelly walked over to Trooper Martin's back up vehicle. "Lucky break for those two, huh?" he smiled.

"I'll say," he smiled and shook his head.

Martin smiled back. "I smell a Commendation."

Kelly laughed. "See ya' back at H.Q."

_(In the meantime, Deakins broke the good news to the Squad. It seemed to lighten the mood just a bit, but there was still Bobby to worry about)._

**8:45 p.m.**

A jolting kick to his side roused Bobby from his unconsciousness. He tried to roll away from the direction it came from, but felt another kick to his lower back, by his kidney. Next, he felt hot, calloused, sweaty hands grabbing at his upper arms, hoisting him up to a standing position. He couldn't stand under his own power; his legs were weak and shaking. He was still forcing his eyes to focus as they stood him on a cinder block and raised his arms, catching his wire-bound wrists in the shiny steel hook that hung from the beam above.

His adrenaline must've started pumping, because he was becoming more alert by the second. Alert enough to realize that the horrible thoughts that swirled through his head during his unconsciousness weren't nightmares…they were memories…vivid memories.

It all made sense now…all the pieces were fitting together…and he derived a calmness and degree of satisfaction that he could still solve puzzles…right down to the end. He knew he was going to die.

He knew because he remembered the bricks, the bare light bulb, the shiny hook from which he was now suspended….the dirty little white dog. He almost laughed when he remembered a pregnant Eames' face as he sniffed the filthy Bichon puppy. But most of all he remembered the smell: the dampness of mildew…and coffee.

He was right in his own back yard. Not even ten miles away from One PP. He was in Brooklyn.

He was in Dan Feist's killing room.

END Chapter Fourteen


	15. Chapter 15

A/N: Aside from the usual disclaimers, I just want to add a big "thanks" to all the readers and reviewers. Sorry this took longer than expected to update –but I had a school deadline to meet. Happily, my paper is in the mail to my Professor and I can go back to devoting all my time to Bobby! PAYBACK _Chapter Fifteen_

**Friday – 9:30 p.m.**

**Major Case Squad**

Alex and Dave made it back to One PP, just as Captain Deakins was finishing his briefing. Dave had all he could do to keep up with her pace, as she rushed through the corridors to the Squad's briefing room.

The room erupted with cheers of relief and greetings as their co-workers welcomed them back, assuring them that they looked none the worse for wear, despite their recent ordeal. It also helped the squad's morale to know that units had already been dispatched to pick up Carmine DeMarco and his gang, as well as to the suburban homes of Agents Warren and Lipinski. Deakins wished he could be there to see their faces when the cuffs were slapped on.

After a minute, Deakins took back control of the meeting. "All right, everybody!" he said, standing behind the podium and motioning the roomful of detectives to sit back down.

He turned towards Alex and Dave. "We're all glad you're back," he said with a small smile, then turned back to the squad. "But Bobby's still out there….and we've gotta' find him." His face turned ashen and grim with worry, as soon as the words left his mouth. "Anybody finds out _anything_…I don't care how insignificant you think it is…you bring it to me, _personally_, immediately…got it?"

The detectives nodded their understanding, a few mumbling "yes, sir," and they headed back to their desks.

Deakins left the briefing room with Alex and Dave following close behind. He turned and asked, over his shoulder, "You guys sure you're all right?"

"I'm _unharmed_," Alex corrected him, as she and Dave entered Deakins' office, "But I won't be all right until I get Bobby back."

Alex and Dave each flopped into a chair in front of the Captain's desk. The Captain stood behind his desk, his hands on his hips. "_We're_ workin' on it!" he snapped – and immediately regretted it. After all, the Captain realized that if _he_ was this upset, then how must Alex feel?

"Sorry," she said sheepishly. "I know everybody's trying."

Alex felt guilty for adding more stress to the Captain's plate. She knew how he felt about Bobby. Jimmy Deakins was like Bobby's big brother and stepfather, all rolled up into one. Years ago, the Captain would've denied it; he didn't want to be caught playing 'favorites' because he knew how that could cause dissention among the ranks—but now? Well, now that just didn't matter to him.

"Forget it," Deakins said, as he rubbed his eyes and let out a long, frustrated sigh.

He sank into his chair and began nervously playing with a paperclip. "This is like looking for a needle in a haystack," he groaned. "He could be _anywhere_."

The three of them sat silently for a moment, as the reality sank in. The last time Alex and Dave saw Bobby, he was injured, bleeding; the ABP had turned up nothing, so far –he _could be_ anywhere; and, as with any missing persons case, the more time that passed, the less likely the person would be found – alive.

Alex was lost in thought. She was replaying the events of the day, trying to see if some obscure comment or clue would come to mind, _anything_ that might've been a clue as to where they were bringing Bobby, but all she kept coming back to was one thing: the sight of his body toppling to the floor…and the pool of blood encircling his head.

She shook her head, slightly, to snap the image from her mind. She knew that if she was going to be of any help to Bobby, at all, she was going to have to keep her emotions under control and act like a detective – he'd be counting on her – that's what he needed from her now.

The sound of Deakins' voice roused her from her private thoughts.

"We'll find him, Alex," the Captain assured. He checked his watch and arose from his chair. "I'm headin' over to see a buddy of mine at Federal Plaza," he said, as he donned his suit jacket. "Anything comes up, call my cell."

**Saturday**

**2:45 a.m.**

This time, it was coughing that roused him. The blood from his broken nose and lacerations to his mouth had been dripping and accumulating in his throat. He coughed and spat out blood and mucus and saliva. His mouth tasted like crap—the taste of warm blood – iron and zinc. He was thirsty. He tried to work some clean saliva into his mouth and ran his tongue over the roof of his mouth and his teeth. He dislodged a broken piece of tooth and spat it out on the floor.

The larger of the two abductors looked and his partner and shrugged his shoulders, then leered sadistically at Bobby. "Good," he said, nodding his head. "You're awake again…you must be ready for more."

The smaller man lit a cigarette and smiled.

Bobby could barely see in the dimness of the room. His eyes and face were bruised and swollen from the multiple punches he'd sustained. His last beating had reopened the wound at the back of his head and streaks of dried blood criss-crossed the black and blue marks on his back and buttocks.

His torturers alternated between head and body punches, sometimes with bare fists –sometimes with brass knuckles. They alternated between burning him with lit cigarettes or the hot metal end of the lighter; sometimes they would just verbally taunt him, or tease him with the promise of a cold drink of water – only to pull it away from his lips as he went to take a sip.

Bobby was sure that at least a couple of his ribs were broken. His breathing was labored as his asked, "What do you want from me? Why are you doing this to me?"

The big man smiled, "We don't _want_ anything from you….and we're _doing it_, because we're getting paid very well to do it."

The smaller man smiled at his partner and took another drag from his cigarette.

"Why don't you just get it over with, then?" Bobby asked, the pain and exhaustion evident in his voice.

"What?" the big man asked with a grin. "Kill you? Put you out of your misery?"

Bobby remained silent, but his chocolate brown eyes –glossy from the pain—remained fixed on the big man's face as he waited for an answer.

The big man laughed, "Don't worry, we will – just not yet." He stood up, cracking his knuckles, then pounded his right fist into the palm of his left hand. He walked towards Bobby, still chuckling. "We're in no rush, Bobby-boy. We're getting' paid by the hour." Then he began punching.

**Saturday**

**6:35 a.m.**

Alex had taken a fifteen-minute break, just to take a quick shower in the locker room and change into the clean jeans and blouse she kept stored there. She and Dave, along with Deakins and the rest of the squad, had been awake all night – not that she could've slept a wink, anyway, while Bobby was still missing.

While one of the guys made a run down to the corner Dunkin' Donuts, Alex put on two pots of coffee and stood by the machine talking with Dave Morris as she waited for the machine to finish brewing. The two of them had put out "feelers" overnight to some of their regular snitches –just in case any word was out on the street.

Captain Deakins bolted upright at his desk when his phone rang. He grabbed the receiver and sharply answered, "Deakins."

"Where?", he asked, while reaching for a pen and piece of paper, and began jotting down information. Peering through the window blinds of his office and spotting Alex and Dave standing by the coffee machine, he grabbed a quarter from his pocket and tossed it against his office window to draw their attention.

The noise startled the detectives, who turned and rushed to the Captain's office.

"Tell 'em not to touch anything," the Captain practically barked. "Our people will be right there."

Alex and Dave exchanged a curious glance.

"Thanks, Bill," Deakins said, and hung up the phone.

He handed the slip of paper to Alex and explained, "That was a buddy of mine, Bill Kowalski. Says one of his patrol units came across a black van in a lot in Sheepshead Bay – no plates."

Morris didn't want to crush Alex's and his Captain's hopes; he just meant to be realistic when he said, "There were probably a dozen black vans stolen in the city last night."

"This one has blood on the rear bumper," Deakins snapped.

Dave Morris once again found himself running to keep up with Alex, as she bolted for the elevators.

**Saturday**

**10:10 a.m**.

Bobby had no idea what time it was…night or day….dark or light. Everything was a blur. He had suffered multiple concussions, he was sure. When he was conscious, his body was racked with pain –there was _no place_ that didn't hurt. But there was no mercy of relief, either, when he was unconscious. His own mind tortured him with nightmares.

The door to the small room opened and the smaller man entered, carrying two bags; one from Dunkin' Donuts and one from 7-Eleven.

The larger man laughed with sarcasm, "Ya' didn't get any for _him_, Tommy? Ya' _know_ cops _love_ donuts!"

The smaller man didn't answer, but shot a stern look across the room. Bobby knew why – it was the first time one of 'em slipped and used a name – and the little guy didn't like it.

The big man finished his breakfast and grabbed the Daily News, tucking it under his arm as he stood to leave the room.

"I'm goin' to use the head."

Once Bobby was sure the big man was gone, he decided to take a chance. He had been observing the dynamic between the two men and it was apparent that the bigger man was in charge – maybe he could get through to _this_ guy.

"T-tommy," Bobby said softly.

The smaller man spun around.

"That's what he called ya' …Tommy."

"So what?" Tommy asked.

"C'mon…while he's gone," Bobby said, tossing his head towards the door. "How about a drink of water?"

The smaller man stood with his back to Bobby, almost feeling guilty as he looked down at the 7-Eleven bag which held an eight pack of Poland Spring bottled water.

"What's it matter, if you're gonna' kill me anyway? Bobby tried to convince him. "Just one drink of water." Bobby's words almost seemed slurred, due to the bruising and swelling to his jaw and lips.

The man stood still, wrestling with his conscience.

"Is this really the way your mother raised you, Tommy? To deny a drink of water to a dying man?"

The man reached into the bag and removed a bottle. He twisted off the cap.

"I won't tell him, I promise," Bobby swore.

Tommy turned and approached Bobby. He stood on tiptoe, raising the bottle to Bobby's lips.

Bobby drank in thirsty gulps, the ice-cold water cooling and refreshing his dry mouth. He filled his cheeks, then let the soothing coolness flow into his parched throat; he ran his now wet, cold tongue over his dry swollen lips. He couldn't believe _how damn good _a simple drink of water could feel.

A second after he was finished, the door swung open. The big man looked at Tommy suspiciously.

Tommy may not have been the boss, but he wasn't stupid, either. He knew the big man would be furious at his breach of the rules, so he quickly covered the deception by raising the bottle to his own lips, pretending to empty its contents. He turned, holding up the bottle. "I was just teasin' him with the water again."

The big man joined in the laughter, mocking Bobby. "Cop is so damn stupid, he probably fell for it again, too! Didn't he?"

Tommy pretended to share in the laugh.

**Saturday**

**10:50 a.m.**

Deakins stood in the doorway of his office and snapped his fingers to get everyone's attention. "Just a quick update, folks!" he announced.

All heads in the squad turned in his direction.

"The van that turned up in Sheepshead Bay…no plates, but we traced the VIN back to a 'Morelli Contracting' in Tiverton, Rhode Island, so we've got a connection. The Feds from the Providence office are headin' to Tiverton to pick up the owner."

A few guys in the squad groaned, "How do we know we can trust _them?_"

"C'mon guys," Deakins said. "There's some good guys in the Fed and they're just as unhappy as we are about what went down. This stunt by Warren and Lipinski gave the Bureau a black eye."

Just as the Captain said, "Okay, that's it for now," a young woman in a lab coat approached him and handed him a manila folder.

Deakins took a moment to read the contents – the lab results from forensics – the evidence from the van.

He removed his glasses and raised his head, once again addressing the squad.

"All right, people," he said, holding the folder above his head. "The lab results are back. It's Bobby's blood in the van!"

Murmurs swept across the room, until Deakins spoke again. "Jackson! Call the canine unit and tell 'em to get out to that van. I want bloodhounds all over that neighborhood!"

Detective Jackson grabbed the phone and began dialing, but Deakins interrupted, "…And bust open Goren's locker. Get something with his scent on it and meet 'em out there!"

Alex was about to volunteer to take Jackson's place. If Bobby was anywhere in that neighborhood --- if the dogs were gonna' find him --- she wanted to be there. Besides, she was tired of ridin' her desk. She wanted the action of being out on the street – it somehow made her feel more useful.

"Eames!" Deakins barked.

She looked up, startled, as the Captain tossed his head towards his office. "Inside," was all he said.

She quickly walked to his office and took a seat as he handed the manila folder to her.

"What d'ya make of that?"

**END** Chapter Fifteen


	16. Chapter 16

PAYBACK _Chapter Sixteen_

**Simultaneously at 10:50 a.m.**

**At a Non-Disclosed Hotel in Manhattan**

Detectives Friedland and White sat side-by-side on the sofa and fought over who was getting the Sports pages.

"Lewis, man -- give it a rest, already!" White exclaimed.

"Yeah, man…you're wearin' a path in the carpet…chill for a while," Friedland added.

Lewis exhaled with a long sigh of frustration. "I'm sorry guys. I can't relax…not until I know about Bobby."

He paced, for the hundredth time, towards the windows.

"Keep away from the windows," White flatly reminded him.

Lewis did an "about face" and flopped down into the chair across from his bodyguards, then rested his feet on the coffee table.

"You're _sure_ they're gonna' call us, the _minute_ they know something?"

"We're sure," the Detectives moaned in unison.

Lewis just sighed again.

"Look," Friedland said, "Didn't they call us as soon as Eames and Morris were found?"

Lewis shook his head in agreement and softly said, "Thank God they're all right." He sat, silently, staring at the men on the couch.

Friedland felt the eyes upon him and looked up from the newspaper. "What now?"

"He's been my best friend, since we were seven years old," Lewis said. "This is all my fault."

Friedland and White instantly felt bad for the wiry, nervous man before them. Inwardly, they, too, were nervous and worried for Bobby's safety and well being – they just did a better job of hiding it.

"They'll find him…And it's _not_ your fault…it's DeMarco and those damn crooked Feds," White said, trying to reassure him.

**10:55 a.m.**

**Brooklyn**

Another beating session had just come to an end. Bobby's body hung from the steel hook overhead –his full weight straining against the hard metal wire binding his wrists, causing cuts in his flesh.

The larger man had been punching him for at least fifteen minutes, as if Bobby's body was a heavy bag in a boxing gym, absorbing blow after blow. There wasn't a spot on his torso that wasn't bruised. His body was a sickening canvas of black and blue and red and purple and green – like a grotesque kaleidoscope.

His legs were weak and unsteady as he tried to balance himself on the cinderblock and provide some relief to his aching arms and shoulders.

The big man was definitely an expert in his field. Every blow administered had a purpose and he hit his target with pinpoint accuracy: stomach, ribs, kidneys, liver, groin.

Bobby wished for a merciful punch to his jaw that would once again render him unconscious so he could escape the pain.

His breathing was labored, coming in short gasps, as saliva and blood drooled from his mouth. Involuntary moans escaped his throat.

"I don't think he can take much more of this; I don't think he's gonna' make forty-eight hours," the smaller man, Tommy, observed. "He ain't lookin' too good."

The big man grinned and let out a small chuckle.

"I ain't kiddin'," Tommy said. "I can barely stand lookin' at him anymore," he said with disgust and averted his eyes.

"Yeah, well, I can't stand listenin' to him anymore," the big man said. He walked to Bobby's left side and delivered the shot that Bobby had prayed for a moment earlier: a crushing blow to the jaw that sent his head reeling – and rendered him unconscious. In a sick way, it was the nicest thing his torturer could have done for him.

As Bobby's mind drifted and his muscles relaxed, his bladder also relaxed. The two men stepped back as they realized what was happening. Tommy turned his head towards the door. The big man stood and watched, with a sadistic grin across his lips, as blood-streaked urine flowed down Bobby's leg onto the cement floor.

"Hose that pig down," the big man barked. "It stinks in here!"

Tommy grabbed the green garden hose from the floor and sprayed a firm stream of icy water over Bobby, down the length of his legs and onto the floor. His stomach turned as he watched the swirling mixture of fluids disappear down the drain in the floor.

"He should be 'out' for a while," the larger man said. "Keep an eye on him. I'll be back in an hour."

**Simultaneously at 10:55**

**Major Case Squad**

Captain Deakins sat silently behind his desk, watching and waiting while Alex read and tried to absorb the information that had come back from the lab.

She looked at the photos of the inside of the van…blood…the rear bumper with Bobby's blood. More photos: footprints found inside the van, size 14 and size 11– treads match a popular steel-toed work boot sold in hundreds of stores.

Alex sighed as she flipped the page and tried to focus her eyes on the small print. "Weird powdery dirt," she mumbled to herself.

"Geez," she moaned after a minute or two of perusing the information before her. "Why can't these lab people just give it to us straight, in plain English? I can't even _pronounc_e half these words."

Deakins smiled. He knew exactly what she meant.

Alex jumped out of her seat and headed for the door.

"Where're you going?" the Captain asked.

"I'm gonna' look around Bobby's desk. I'm _sure_ he's got a book layin' around that'll help us decipher this stuff."

A minute later, she was back in Deakins' office, toting a book that looked as if it weighed almost as much as she did: _"The World Encyclopaedia of Chemical Compounds and Elements."_

Deakins couldn't help but smile as he watched her sit and drop the book onto her lap with a grunt.

She held the file in one hand and frantically turned the pages of the huge book, her head oscillating between the two, as she looked up word after word.

After a couple of minutes, he saw her posture go rigid. He saw the look that swept over her face. It was a look of remembrance…of recognition. It was as if a light bulb went on in her head.

"What is it? What've ya' got?" Deakins asked impatiently.

Alex shoved the book from her lap as she leapt to her feet. The book went crashing to the floor with a huge thud.

"It's fatty acids! It's esters! Coffee oil! She blurted out with excitement.

She bolted for the door, yelling back over her shoulder, "Bobby's in Brooklyn! I know where he is!"

All heads in the squad room turned, astonished at the announcement, as they watched Deakins jog down the hallway after Alex.

"I'm comin' with ya'!"

END Chapter Sixteen


	17. Chapter 17

PAYBACK _Chapter Seventeen_

**11:10 a.m.**

Brooklyn 

The big man sat the diner counter. He had ordered an early lunch. All that punching had worked up his appetite.

He was thumbing through the newspaper, but not really reading it. His thoughts were wandering, back to the killing room. His "apprentice" Tommy was getting on his nerves – he was 'soft' – he didn't appear to have the stomach for the job.

Then his thoughts switched gear – back to when he entered the room earlier in the morning and found Tommy –with his water bottle—standing near the cop. His imagination took him step further. "Hmm…I bet that little bastard _did_ give him water…why else would he have pissed so much…he should be more dehydrated…he shouldn't 've pissed so much. The big man was speaking from experience, having "hired out" his services for the past ten years.

And as much as he hated to admit it, in all his years he'd never come across "an assignment" who withstood one of his beatings as Bobby had…without crying or screaming out in pain. In a twisted way, his victim had earned his respect. Not that it mattered; the cop would soon have a bullet in his head.

His annoyance with Tommy nagged at him, and by the time the sexy blond waitress served his burger and fries, the big man had developed an alternate plan. He'd put a bullet in Tommy's head, too; he deserved it for breaking the rules—and he'd keep the $250,000 for himself.

He smiled at the thought of the money. He was anxious to proceed.

**11:15 a.m.**

Deakins radioed for back up and the EMT's to meet them at the abandoned warehouse, as the SUV sped from the parking garage of One PP. No one was to approach the building until they arrived.

Pinned to the passenger seat, the Captain couldn't decide what Alex was doing faster: talking or driving. By the time they had crossed the span of the Brooklyn Bridge, she had refreshed his memory about the case from a couple of years ago: the hit man, Dan Fiest and his widow who married the crooked cop, Earl Carnicki; how the coffee was the clue…the coffee oil on the knees of Fiest's jeans—they had killed him in his own killing room…and the little white dog…filthy with coffee dust. The memory of how Bobby sniffed the dog brought a fleeting smile to her lips.

"It's _gotta'_ be the place," Alex muttered. "He's _gotta'_ be there."

Deakins was hesitant to broach the subject, but he wanted Alex to be prepared for the worst, just in case. He looked to his left and watched her for a moment – her eyes were intent on the road as she maneuvered the speeding SUV through the traffic and the narrow streets.

"Look, Alex," he said.

She knew what he was about to say. She could tell from his tone – somber and foreboding and she didn't want to hear it.

"Don't even think it!" she snapped.

"I just want you to be prepared," he said in a fatherly tone, but she wouldn't let him finish that sentence, either.

"We're gonna' get him outta' there and he's gonna' be all right! All right?" She shot him a sideways glance. She couldn't let herself believe otherwise. She hit the pedal harder.

**11:25 a.m**.

The SUV pulled around the corner and was met by three patrol units, lights flashing, no sirens, approaching from the opposite direction.

Eames' pistol was in her hand the second she jumped out of the driver's seat.

"Eames!" Deakins yelled. "Vests!"

They met at the trunk and each grabbed a vest, strapping them on as they walked to the uniformed officers. After a brief summation of the circumstances and how they planned to proceed, Eames led the way towards the back door of the warehouse, followed by the Captain and four of the officers. Two of the uniforms hung back, to secure the area and, seconds later, when the EMT unit arrived, filled them in on what they might expect.

A chill ran down Alex's spine as she remembered her last visit to this place. She knew what the room looked like; eerie, dark and cold. It had smelled like death then. The thought of Bobby being in there sickened her.

She took a deep breath, trying to steel herself. Deakins had been right, even though she didn't want to hear it from him or admit it to herself. The closer she got to reaching the door and discovering what horror – what sorrow – could possibly be waiting for her on the other side, she felt her nerves and her resolve weakening.

She gave the signal to her fellow officers and slowly swung the door open. They stood silent, letting their eyes adjust from the daylight outside to the dimness of the interior, before proceeding.

They eased their way, cautiously, towards the door to the killing room. She remembered how Bobby has used the bolt cutters to cut the padlock off the door. It hadn't been replaced. The door was closed, but not locked. Light could faintly be seen through the cracks around the door jam. Someone was inside.

Deakins surveyed the Officers. All were in position, with weapons ready.

"This is the Police!" The Captain's voice boomed.

Inside the room, Tommy jumped off the stool to his feet, in a panic. His pulse went haywire. He knew he was caught. There was nothing he could do. And deep down, a part of him was relieved.

"I don't have a weapon! Don't shoot!" he shouted through the door.

One of the uniformed officers grabbed the door and pulled it open, in a quick, sweeping movement.

Tommy stood before them, hands in the air. In a split second, the cops yanked him out of the room and to the ground, slapping on the handcuffs.

Alex and Deakins rushed into the room and, for a second, stopped dead in their tracks as their brains tried to absorb the horrific sight that their eyes were taking in. If they didn't _know_ that it was Bobby, they would never have believed it. The body hanging before them was practically unrecognizable – bloodied, bruised and swollen. His head hung, listlessly, to one side, and blood dripped from the corner of his mouth.

If felt like an eternity had passed, but it was only a matter of _seconds_ before the EMT's rushed in.

Alex and the Captain watched, frantically, as the uniformed officers grabbed the stool and an old wooden crate that was laying on the floor – anything to elevate them so they could lift Bobby up a few inches and dislodge his wired wrists from the hook.

She couldn't tell if he was breathing, or not. He looked so limp and lifeless. In all her years on the force, she'd never seen injuries like it.

She was in shock. She didn't even realize she was screaming at the officers, "Get him DOWN! Get him DOWN!"

Deakins came up beside her and put his arm around her shoulders. His brows knitted together, _his_ face wincing as he got a look at Bobby's other side and a whole new set of bruises. His stomach turned at the thought of the pain that Bobby must've gone through.

Alex's voice had turned into a whispering, pleading sob, "Be _careful_ with him…he's my partner…he's my partner…_he's my Bobby_…"

"We've got a pulse! Let's get 'im out to the bus!" the head EMT yelled, as they covered him with a blanket.

Alex wiped her eyes. "I'm ridin' with him."

Deakins nodded. "You gonna' be okay?"

She nodded back.

"All right. I'll take the truck and meet ya' at the hospital.

The big man watched from far down the block. "Had Tommy called the cops? Ratted him out? Or had the cops figured it out on their own? Whichever, he needed to get outta' town, fast. He was more than pissed off and, obviously, the Masucci's and DeMarco would be, too.

"There goes two hundred and fifty G's… sonofabitch."

While following the ambulance, Deakins called the squad to give them an update. Morris answered, relieved to hear the news that Bobby was found alive, but was still concerned about his injuries. The captain asked Morris to telephone Friedland and White, so they could tell Lewis.

Lewis was still pacing. He was a nervous wreck and almost jumped out of his skin with Friedland's cell phone rang.

"Friedland."

Lewis and White looked on, trying to determine from Friedland's voice or body language if it was good or bad news.

"That's great. I'll tell 'im," he said, and flipped his phone closed.

"They found Bobby. He's beat up pretty bad, but he's alive. He's on his way to the hospital. Eames and Deakins are gonna' be there with 'im."

Lewis heaved a sigh of relief as tears of happiness welled up in his eyes.

Alex watched as the EMT monitored Bobby's pulse, took his blood pressure and listened to his lungs, jotting numbers and symbols down on a chart as he went along.

She was barely aware of the tears that flowed down her cheeks. She kept on sniffling as her nose ran, and the young man finally passed some Kleenex to her so she could blow her nose. She stared down at Bobby, thanking God that he was alive. His jaw was swollen; his cheeks and eyes discolored; his lips were swollen and caked with dried blood.

The EMT gently held oxygen over his face, not wanting to press the mask too firmly against him.

Alex wanted, so badly, to reach out and touch him, but she was afraid of hurting him.

Bobby felt the movement of the vehicle; it was a gentle rocking and swaying motion. He realized he was lying down. It felt so good -- his legs and arms were so tired. He was just coming out of the stupor of his unconsciousness, not yet alert enough to even notice the sirens. All he felt was the soothing movement. He was sure he had died, and this was how it felt to float to Heaven.

Alex could resist no longer, and reached across to the less-damaged right side of his face. With two gentle fingers, she lightly stroked his temple, then around his ear to the back of his head. Her fingers felt the dried blood at the back of his head; pieces of his hair were clumped together, but she ignored it and just kept stroking him, as she whispered, "Bobby…it's me…you're safe…you're gonna' be all right…"

His eyes opened, just a slit. Alex couldn't tell, because they were so swollen.

His lips curved into a little smile; his crooked little smile that she loves – the one that makes that little dimple just to the right of his lips – but she didn't see that, either, because the oxygen mask was in the way.

He drifted back to sleep, feeling relaxed for the first time in days. He was sure he was floating to Heaven. He had just seen the face of his angel.

END Chapter Seventeen


	18. Chapter 18

PAYBACK Chapter Eighteen 4:30 p.m. Mount Sinai Hospital 

In contrast to the earlier chaos when Bobby first arrived at the Emergency Room, his room was now peaceful. The window shades were almost fully drawn, allowing just a few rays of the afternoon sun to filter through.

Upon his arrival, the doctors had, of course, fully examined him and performed various tests; an EKG, EEG, X-rays, CAT Scan. He was connected to an IV and the "tree" next to his bed held three different bags that fed into the line in his arm. She knew one was simply to re-hydrate him; one was an antibiotic and the third was for pain. She couldn't pronounce any of the names of the medicines on the bags, but if the doctors said he needed it, that's all that mattered.

The doctors said Bobby had a concussion, three broken ribs on his left side and deep-tissue trauma injuries to his kidneys and lower abdomen, which accounted for the blood in his urine. They said he'd be in the hospital for a least several days, as they needed to closely monitor his kidney function and urine output to make sure there wasn't more serious damage.

Alex sat in a fairly comfortable chair, just watching Bobby and the IV drips and the heart monitor. She looked at the catheter bag hanging from the side of the bed – his urine _definitely_ wasn't the right color – and followed the curved plastic tubing 'til it disappeared under the blanket.

"Ouch," she thought to herself. "The dreaded catheter…he's gonna' _love_ that when he wakes up…as if he hasn't been tortured enough." She allowed herself a small chuckle at her dark humor.

Every now and then, a nurse would come in the room to check all the readings and measurements and log them on his chart. Aside from that, she was alone with him – and she liked it.

Once the doctors had finished with Bobby in the ER, Deakins headed over to see Mr. Carver. Carver had his own hands full with building this case against the Masucci's and DeMarco and, unfortunately, the crooked Feds, Warren and Lipinski. There were Subpoenas to issue, Grand Jury appearances and arguments to prepare for – indictments on the way. Yes, Mr. Carver was having fun.

Alex stood by Bobby's bedside. She thought about everything she wanted to say to him, once he woke up.

He looked slightly better, having been washed and his cuts and bruises tended to. He had 22 stitches to close the wound at the back of his head.

She gently stroked his forehead, letting her fingers disappear back into his wavy hair. "Why does he have to be unconscious for me to have the courage to do this?" The silent question that ran through her mind startled her. But, as if she had no control over it, her mind continued to ramble on. "This was far too close a call…I want things to be different from now on…"

She felt the skin under her hand move, as Bobby's eyebrows knitted together and his eyes fluttered open.

He remained still – quiet – just looking up at her.

She smiled. "Hey, you're awake."

His eyes closed and he smacked his lips together; his mouth was still dry.

Alex took a chip of ice. "Here," she said, and rubbed it over his lips.

He opened his mouth and she let the melting piece of ice slip onto his tongue. "You have an IV to help get you re-hydrated," she told him.

He breathed in deeply and let out a big sigh.

She placed her hand on top of his – just wanting him to feel her touch – to let him know his was safe. She stared at the bruises on his wrist, until his voice snapped her from her thoughts.

"Eames?"

"I'm here."

"I knew you'd find me."

She smiled.

"Lewis?" he asked, with worry in his voice.

"Lewis is fine. Everybody's fine."

He nodded. "I knew I could count on you."

"Yes, you can," she thought to herself.

His head tilted, slightly, to one side as he slipped back into sleep.

She smiled down at his face; so peaceful now as opposed to the twisted, painful grimace she'd seen earlier back in that room.

"If you ever do something like this to me again, _I'll_ kick your ass," she whispered softly while petting his hair. She bent and pressed her lips to his forehead.

Over the next couple of weeks, the cops kept a protective detail on Lewis' garage. Although the main members of the Masucci/DeMarco gang had been rounded up and were awaiting indictment and trial, Deakins just wanted to be sure. In the meantime, Lewis had installed new heavy-duty doors and locks, a state-of-the-art alarm system and cameras. He was even thinking of buying a watchdog. This entire incident had scared the crap out of him.

**Sunday**

Labor Day Weekend 

Bobby, Lewis and Lewis' mom sat around the kitchen table. Lewis' family threw a great bar-b-que every Labor Day weekend. Bobby was glad they always had theirs on Sunday, because the Eames' clan always held theirs on Monday; he wouldn't want to miss either.

The clean up was all done and all the other guests had gone home.

Mrs. Kyzinski put a plate of cookies in the center of the table and poured each of them a fresh mug of coffee.

"So, how are you feeling, Bobby?"

"I'm okay," he said, nodding and taking a bite of a chocolate chip. "My ribs still hurt sometimes when I move a certain way, but I'm good."

"That's good, dear."

Lewis smiled at Bobby. His mother called everybody "dear."

"You two had quite an exciting summer."

"Yeah, thanks a lot, Uncle Walter," Lewis said sarcastically.

Bobby chuckled.

"Poor Uncle Walter," Mrs. Kyzinski lamented, shaking her head.

"Poor Uncle Walter?" Lewis blurted. "Uncle Walter almost got us killed!"

Bobby chuckled again. Lewis was always so dramatic and animated.

"He always liked you, honey. You were his favorite nephew….the first born, you know?" She smiled at Bobby.

"Yeah, well, he had a funny way of showing it. If I never hear about Uncle Walter again, it'll be too soon," Lewis groaned.

"Aww, don't say that, honey. That's your daddy's brother."

Bobby just sat by, sipping his coffee and eating another chocolate chip cookie. He enjoyed watching the dynamic between mother and son.

"You know," Mrs. Kyzinski said, "When I was down the basement getting out the spare lawn chairs for the party, I came across that old box your father saved with Walter's things in it." She took a sip of coffee.

"A-a-a box?" Bobby questioned. "D-do you mind if take a look at it?" He couldn't help asking, as his Detective's curiosity took over.

Lewis mom smiled. "I don't see the harm in it, dear." She always liked Bobby –ever since he was kid. She didn't mind humoring him.

The three of them headed down the basement stairs and she walked to the far corner, pointing at the box on the shelf.

Bobby retrieved the large cardboard box and brought it to the workbench. He could barely contain himself as he took out his pocketknife, cut the tape and unfolded the top flaps.

Lewis and his mother stood by, watching, as Bobby removed some old 45 records, some papers and an old radio. He held up the radio and smiled, "My mom had one like this in our kitchen…I wonder if it still works?"

"You can have it, if you like, dear," Lewis mother offered.

Lewis chimed in, "You could probably sell it on Ebay."

His mother slapped his arm, "Oh, Lewis!"

Bobby continued pulling out items…a deck of cards…an old bottle of cologne…an old racing program from Belmont Park.

Lewis laughed as Bobby held it up. "_That_ figures!" he joked.

There was a plastic bag at the bottom. Bobby took it out and opened it, pulling out a toy. It was a racehorse, about a foot high and a foot long, made of naugahyde. It had a little saddle with stirrups and a bridle. Bobby held it up, admiring the workmanship.

Lewis laughed again, "_That_ figures, too!"

"Awww" Mrs. Kyzinski sentimentally sighed, "Poor Uncle Walter always loved horses."

"Loved the 'ponies' is more like it!" Lewis exclaimed.

"I really don't get you, Mom," Lewis complained. "Poor Uncle Walter this, poor Uncle Walter that…remember? Poor Uncle Walter almost got us killed!" He exclaimed, waving his finger, pointing at Bobby and himself.

Bobby interrupted Lewis' tangent. "Th-there's a tag on the bridle," he said, holding it up to the light, so he could read.

"To: Lewis"

Lewis looked at his mother. "I don't remember that when I was a kid….you never gave that to me?" he asked indignantly.

"Your father cleaned out Uncle Walter's apartment after….the 'accident.' Besides, you were…what? Eleven or twelve years old when he died…you wouldn't have played with a toy like that…you and Bobby were too busy with baseball and basketball…_and_ little Maryellen Parker down the street," she added with a wink at Bobby.

Bobby and Lewis laughed at the memory.

"Well, boys, I'm pooped. I'm going up to bed," she announced, and leaned to give Bobby a kiss good-bye.

"G'night, Mrs. K. Thanks for havin' me," Bobby said.

"You know you're always welcome, dear."

As she retreated up the stairs, Bobby walked towards Lewis, holding the horse on its side. He held out his pinky as he pointed to the horse. "See? The stitches on the saddle and on the horse's legs…they're beige."

Lewis gave him a look that said "so what?"

He turned the toy over, again pointing with his pinky. "Th-the stitches down the belly…th-they're black…it..it's not the original thread."

Bobby again took out his pocketknife and cut the seam on the underside of the horse.

"Hey! That's my toy!" Lewis said, realizing how childish he sounded.

Bobby's face broke into a huge grin. He split the seam apart, holding the horse out for Lewis to see.

Lewis dipped his head for a closer look. "You gotta' be shittin' me."

Bobby laughed as he dug into the horse's cavity…removing a wad of hundred dollar bills and handing it to Lewis. He reached farther in, digging up the horse's neck, finding another rolled up wad.

Lewis was already counting.

Two more rolls came from the horse's rear legs.

The two friends couldn't wipe the smiles from their faces as they counted, hundred after hundred. It was the money Uncle Walter had stolen from Vinny "The Chin" Gigante more than thirty-five years ago when he was runnin' numbers.

"Holy shit," Lewis said with a smile. "Fifty six thousand dollars."

"It was a lot of money back then," Bobby said.

"It's a lot of money _now_," Lewis corrected.

Lewis shot a worried look at Bobby…no, it was more like dread on his face. "I don't have to report this, right? I don't have to give this back or anything, right? We're splittin' it!"

Bobby smiled.

"Remember, Bobby…down the boardwalk…you said we're friends first, you're a cop second."

Bobby laughed. "Report what? I didn't see nuthin'." Bobby really saw no point in reporting anything. Besides, who was Lewis gonna' return the money to? The crooks? Anyway, after the ordeal they'd been through, Bobby figured it was the least they were owed.

Lewis grabbed his friend into a celebratory hug, patting his back. "Good old Uncle Walter!"

"Hey, watch the ribs," Bobby teased, then added, "This is our secret, Lewis. Nobody ever knows, right? Not even Eames."

"You got it, man."

**November**

Eames was at her desk, awaiting Bobby's arrival. She had picked up breakfast for them and sipped her coffee as she watched him, finally, walk down the main corridor into the squad room.

They greeted each other with a smile.

"How was your long weekend in Vegas?" she asked with a teasing tone to her voice.

"Good," he answered, as he lowered himself into his chair and reached for his container of coffee.

"Oh, I get it…what happens in Vegas _stays_ in Vegas," she teased again.

Bobby furrowed his brow and gave her an admonishing look. "Nothing like _that_ happened in Vegas. It was just fun getting away with Lewis, ya' know?"

"Uh-huh," she nodded and continued teasing.

He placed his hands on his desk and leaned towards her, looking to his left and right to be sure no one was watching them.

He puckered his lips, as if blowing her a kiss. He kept his voice low as he whispered, "There were some pretty cocktail waitresses, but none of _them_ ever saved my life."

He watched the smile that the comment brought to her lips.

"I missed you," he mouthed.

She smiled again.

As he took another sip of his coffee, she reached across the desk and laid a stack of newspapers in front of him: The Daily News, The Post, The Times, all with photos and big headlines.

"I saved Saturday's papers for you…all the news from the Sentencing on Friday.

Bobby perused the headlines, softly reading out loud, "…twenty-five…twenty-five to life…fifteen…no parole…"

Bobby smiled as he looked across the desk, holding up the Daily News. "Lousy picture of DeMarco..he doesn't look too happy."

Alex smiled. "Yeah, payback's a bitch."

THE END


	19. EPILOGUE

**A/N**: The following Epilogue was written in response to the review/request by Bammi1. Thanks for reading and reviewing.

…and to Bammi1: Although I didn't manage to work in all the characters you suggested, I hope you enjoy it!

PAYBACK EPILOGUE 

Eighteen months had passed since the trials were over and the defendants' sentences imposed. Work at the Major Case Squad had continued, as usual.

Bobby rarely mentioned the horrific events of that summer, but Alex knew they had affected him – strangely enough, in a _positive_ way.

On the job, he was still the most amazing detective and intimidating interrogator she'd ever known, but when it came to his personal life, she definitely noticed his more relaxed approach. He seemed to get out more and have more fun with Lewis _and_ her. He had a renewed enthusiasm and appreciation for even the simplest things in life –from holding her hand as they strolled through a cooling Spring rain, to sleeping late and cuddling away a lazy Sunday afternoon, and she knew why. It was because _he_ _had_ come so close to _losing_ his – he had tasted death.

"Most people don't get a second chance. I'm gonna' make the most of mine." That's what he told her while she laid snuggled in his arms on one of those lazy afternoons over a year ago, and he had stayed true to his vow.

She glanced across her desk as he sorted through the daily mail. Another plain white envelope –blue ink—man's writing. Every three of four weeks, starting about a year ago, just such an envelope would arrive. She never asked about them and he never told. He'd simply tuck the envelope away into the breast pocket of his suit and bring it home to his apartment, to read privately, later. The letters were never mentioned during their "pillow talk."

But today was different. It was as if he was _expecting_ the letter, anxious to read the news it brought. He carefully slit the top with his letter opener and removed the tri-folded sheets of white, lined paper.

She watched his face.

He smiled and exhaled –almost a sigh of relief.

His reaction, in turn, made Alex breathe a sigh of relief. "At least it wasn't bad news," she surmised. Although she never did ask Bobby whom the letters were from, she had assumed they could, possibly, be from his brother; that maybe he had mended fences after his brush with death.

He finished reading, returned the letter to the envelope, tucked it in his jacket and headed for Deakins' office.

The Captain's door was open, but Bobby stopped outside, anyway, and knocked on the door jam. "You got a minute, Cap?"

"Sure, c'mon in," Deakins said looking up from his paperwork with a smile

Bobby took his familiar seat opposite the Captain.

"I need to take Friday off," he stated plainly.

Deakins looked at him and it wasn't Bobby's imagination – he saw a look of concern on his Captain's face.

The Captain arose from his seat and closed his office door. Alex saw the door swing closed from the corner of her eye and became concerned, too.

"Uh-oh," she muttered to herself. "I thought it was _good_ news."

Jimmy settled back in his chair and grabbed a pencil, tapping the eraser end on his blotter. "Look, Bobby…you're a grown man and Lord knows you've accumulated enough vacation time over the years…"

Bobby looked across the desk at his Captain. "Was the Captain really about to deny him the day off?" he wondered to himself. Bobby stared, eyebrows raised, waiting for Deakins to continue.

"I don't want you to be angry. I'm saying this as your friend…I know you went through a terrible ordeal…maybe you should get some help."

Bobby looked at him incredulously; his eyes grew even wider. "Help? Help for what?" His voice was raised with astonishment at the Captain's suggestion.

Deakins sighed and rolled his eyes. "Look, Bobby…I was trying to go about this gently, but I guess there's no easy way to say it. I think you have a gambling problem."

Bobby scoffed at him, then broke into a full chuckle.

"Go ahead…laugh...it's what I expected. Alcoholics…gamblers…they never admit their problem, at first."

Bobby shook his head from side to side, still laughing. He held up his hands in a "halt" motion, then got himself under control. "Wha—what does my asking for Friday off have to do with gambling?"

"You're taking another long weekend…with Lewis…Vegas, Atlantic City…wherever it is you go… you just got back from another one of your three-day weekends a couple of weeks ago…"

Bobby interrupted, "Look, first of all, I do _not_ have a gambling problem. Lewis and I have fun…we like traveling and hangin' out together. Second, the trips we have taken haven't cost me a penny, and third, I'm not goin' to Vegas…I'm going to Ossining," Bobby recited, with a 'so there!' tone to his voice.

"Ossining?" Deakins' curiosity—and worry—were aroused. Ossining could only mean one thing: the infamous "Sing-Sing" prison.

Bobby nodded. "I've been called to testify at a couple of parole hearings."

"Oh," Jimmy nodded with a relieved smile. Many of his Detectives were routinely called to testify at Parole Board hearings, to make sure the scumbags they locked up _stayed_ there.

"All right…Friday…lemme' mark my calendar…and remind me to send a memo down to Personnel."

Bobby nodded and stood, heading for the door.

"Goren!"

Bobby spun around, "Uh, yeah Cap?"

"What d'ya mean those trips didn't cost ya' nothin'? Lewis paid?"

Bobby smiled, "Yeah…umm, something like that."

"What's _that_ supposed to mean? "_Something like that_?" Deakins looked at him skeptically.

"He ummm, he came into some money…._an inheritance_," Bobby answered, stretching the truth just a bit.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't know someone in his family died," the Captain said. "It wasn't his mother, was it?" he asked with concern.

"No…it ummm, it was his Uncle Walter," Bobby answered with a crooked grin.

The Captain repeated the name to himself, in a whisper, as he put two and two together. "Uncle Walt…?" Deakins arm shot up, index finger pointing at the door. "Get outta' here…I don't wanna' know _anything_…I don't wanna' hear another word!"

Bobby laughed and exited, quickly.

He settled in back at his desk and grabbed the next folder from his "IN" box.

"Everything okay?" Alex asked.

"Yes," was all he answered, but gave her a big smile.

**Friday**

**2:00 p.m.**

The Parole Board had convened, as scheduled. Bobby had testified and waited outside in the anteroom as the Board deliberated, anxious to hear its decisions.

He heard a loud buzz and the clanking of metal from the heavy steel door that separated the prison block from the administrative and Warden's offices.

Bobby lowered his book and watched as four guards escorted the huge man through the doorway, towards the Board's Chambers.

The big man instantly recognized Bobby and glared at him with an intimidating stare.

Bobby's heart raced at the sight of the man, but his face revealed nothing. Not fear, not anger…not even the loathing he felt for the man. His brown eyes stared back, matching the man, glare-for-glare, until he was ushered into the room to face the Board.

Inside the Parole Board's Chambers 

The Board Chairman took less than three minutes to announce the decision. The big man sat, stone-faced, listening.

"…..and finally, Mr. Martinelli, after viewing the photographs of Detective Goren's injuries and hearing his testimony, parole is hereby denied…and due to your recent behavior while in confinement, you will be ineligible for parole for a minimum of another twenty-four months."

The Chairman pounded his gavel on the desk. The guards quickly surrounded and took hold of the man to bring him back to his cell.

As the Chamber doors swung open, Bobby looked up again, watching as the large man began to resist –squirming and writhing against the guards' hold. The four guards quickly got the big man under control and lead him towards the door—back to prison.

Bobby couldn't resist the urge.

"Hey!" he called out.

The Guards stopped, allowing the big man a half-turn, to face Bobby.

The man glared at him, the venom of hatred practically spewing from his eyes.

Bobby smiled slightly. "I guess it was a 'no'," he taunted, then shrugged his shoulders.

He sat watching as the guards dragged the struggling man back through the steel door.

Approximately twenty minutes later… 

It was a repeat of the earlier scene. The heavy steel door opening…guards escorting the prisoner into the Board's Chamber to learn his fate.

Inside the Parole Board's Chambers 

"….You can thank Detective Goren for his testimony, Mr. Hanratty. After giving you credit for time served pending trial and sentencing, and time credited for your exemplary behavior, parole is hereby granted. Release is scheduled for three weeks from today" the chairman said, while checking his calendar. "That's May 22nd," he said with a small smile and banged his gavel. "Congratulations."

Bobby stood as the Chamber doors opened, a look of hopeful optimism was reflected in his small smile and raised eyebrows.

He walked to the man, much to the surprise of the guards.

"Thank you," the man said with tears in his eyes.

Bobby nodded. "I never got to thank _you_."

The two men's eyes met for a moment, before the guards lead Tommy Hanratty back to his cell.

The following Monday night… 

Bobby lay with his head in Alex's lap as they watched TV. Her right hand absent-mindedly alternated between stroking his hair and caressing his cheek.

"Dinner was great…thanks," he said as he snuggled against her.

"You're welcome."

A few moments of comfortable silence passed before Alex spoke.

"I bumped into Mr. Carver in the cafeteria today."

Bobby didn't respond.

"He told me that Tommy Hanratty was granted parole on Friday." She looked down at his face. He smiled and nodded, nuzzling against her stomach.

"I suppose you had something to do with that?"

He nodded again, softly saying, "A little…"

"I suppose you don't wanna' explain to me why you did that," she said, pressing for information.

He sighed and after a moment of silence, said "Luke 10: 25-37."

"Ah, another cryptic answer," Alex mused to herself. She gave it a few seconds' thought and said, "The story of The Good Samaritan?"

She looked down at the angelic face of her lapsed altar boy. She knew well his look of relaxation and contentment. He was drifting off to sleep.

He snuggled even deeper into the comfort of lap and embrace, mumbling softly.

Something about a drink of water is what Alex _thought_ she heard him say, but she didn't press him to explain any further.

She kissed his forehead and let him drift off, peacefully.

It was her favorite time of day.

_THE END_


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N: This is a sequel to "Payback." I've opted to tag it on to the end of the existing story for easier reference, rather than posting it as a separate/new story.**

**Evening the Score**

Donnagio's Pizzeria & Restaurant 

Thursday, November 15 – 8:30 p.m.

With their shift scheduled to end at 11:00 p.m. it was fairly late to be taking a dinner break, but the Captain had suggested it --almost insisted upon it, much to Bobby's surprise. They had put in a hard week and a long day but, as usual, their efforts paid off: another guilty perp caught and arrested. Now all that was left was the paperwork.

Bobby and Alex settled into the booth towards the rear of the small Italian restaurant. Slipping off her black leather jacket, a shiver ran through her. She rubbed her hands together, blowing on them for warmth.

"I can't believe how quickly the weather turned," she said. "It was almost 70 degrees the other day and tonight's supposed to be only 40."

Bobby nodded in agreement. "Time to get the winter coats out," he said, while in gentlemanly fashion trying to divert his eyes from the hard nipples that poked at the front her blouse.

The waitress approached, laying paper place mats and silverware in front of both of them, then handed them each a menu.

"Can I get you something to drink before you order?"

"A cup of coffee and a diet coke, please," Alex answered.

"Just a coke for me," Bobby added.

The waitress retreated to get their drinks and Bobby and Alex perused the menu.

"Everything looks good," Alex said, blushing as her stomach audibly grumbled.

Bobby smiled and placed his menu on the side of the table.

"You already know what you're getting?"

"I get the same thing every time –veal parmesan," Bobby chuckled.

"I think I'll just have a salad and a slice," Alex said as she placed her menu aside.

"We didn't have lunch today," Bobby reminded her. "Why don't you have a dinner?"

"At this hour!" Alex exclaimed, as she checked her watch. "Ya know, anything you eat after six o'clock goes straight to your butt."

_Your butt looks fine to me_. "You should eat something more substantial," Bobby scolded.

"If I eat a heavy dinner, how will I have room for dessert?" Alex sassed him back.

"De—dessert?" Bobby questioned with a smile and tossed his head in her direction. "What about your um- your butt?"

"What _about_ it?" she dared him.

"Nuth-nothing," Bobby blushed.

X X X

Things had been going better between the two of them for the past couple of weeks. They had gotten past and survived the recent 'rocky' moments and it felt that their partnership was back on track –back to normal. Well, as 'normal' as life with Bobby ever got, anyway.

Their meals arrived quickly after ordering and they chatted easily while eating.

"I um, I've been meaning to thank you –a couple of weeks ago when you 'covered' for me with the Captain," Bobby said softly.

"Which time?" Alex asked, wearing her usual snarky grin.

Bobby chuckled. "When you told him the guy tripped and fell into the water."

"You mean he _didn't_ trip?" Alex teased and smiled.

"Well, th-thanks," Bobby whispered.

"Yeah, well –he deserved it," Alex said before taking another bite of her pizza.

X X X

Deciding it'd probably be better to steer the conversation in a different direction, Alex asked, "So, dinner's at three next Thursday. You're coming, right?"

Bobby let out a sigh, his head cocked to one side. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "I don't…"

"Let me rephrase that. You're coming. I already told my mom," Alex said, staring at him defiantly.

"Well I guess I'm coming, then," Bobby surrendered with a little smile. "Thanks."

X X X

While Alex waited for her second cup of coffee and cannoli, her cell phone rang. She grabbed the phone from her jacket pocket and quickly checked the caller ID. A little frown overtook her lips and her eyes locked with Bobby's for a second.

"It's the Captain."

Bobby sat across the table, looking on curiously and listening.

"Eames."

_I need you and your partner back here. __Now_.

The sternness and urgency of the Captain's voice startled her. Once again, her eyes caught Bobby's. He easily read the concern on her face and his curiosity was piqued.

"Is something wrong?" Alex questioned,

"Look. If I tell you now, _you'll_ just tell Goren and by the time you two get back here he'll have a full head of steam worked up. That's the last thing I need. Just get back here."

Alex flipped the phone shut and reached for her jacket. "We've gotta get back," she said abruptly and slid out of the booth.

Bobby followed suit, leaving cash on the table to cover their check and tip.

They left the restaurant swiftly, striding through the brisk night air as they headed back to One PP –straight to the next nightmare in Bobby's life.

END Chapt. 20


	21. Chapter 21

One PP – 9:28 p.m.

As the elevator ascended to the 11th floor, every bad scenario imaginable ran through Alex's mind. She was afraid to find out what the Captain had to say and even more afraid of what Bobby's reaction to it might be. _Obviously, it's something bad if Ross didn't want Bobby to know. God, why do I get the feeling it's gonna be a long night? _

By the time the elevator car had made it to the 5th floor, Bobby broke the silence.

"What do you think is so terrible that the Captain didn't want me to know?"

_Shit_. "I don't know, Bobby. He didn't tell me anything, either."

Alex stood silently, facing forward, watching the illuminated floor numbers pass by: 6, 7, 8. _Three floors to go_.

"I saw the look on your face while you were on the phone with him," Bobby said, pressing the issue.

_Oh, what's the use. What's the difference, anyway. Two floors to go before he finds out, anyway_. "Look, when I asked the Captain what was up, all he said was that he didn't want to tell me, because I'd tell you and you'd have a full head of steam worked up before we got back here."

They were standing side by side now, arms brushing against each other. He gazed down at the top of her head. "Since when do you listen to the Captain?" he asked sarcastically. "You should have told me."

_Finally, 11_. The doors slid open and as they stepped out, Alex replied, "There was nothing to tell."

They strode down the corridor, through the bullpen and straight to Ross' office. Bobby's long-legged strides got him to the doorway first, but he waited for Alex to catch up and stood aside, allowing her to enter first.

"Close the door," Ross said flatly.

Alex and Bobby each took a seat in front of the Captain's desk. Bobby shifted in his seat, nervously fidgeting.

"There was a homicide earlier tonight. The body's down with Rodgers now."

Bobby's eyebrows raised. He shrugged his shoulders and gave a quick glance towards Eames to see if he could detect her reaction.

"Why Major Case?" Alex asked. "A mob hit? Somebody famous?"

Captain Ross hesitated. He eyed each Detective and sighed. "The victim's name is Thomas Hanratty."

Ross watched as the color drained from Bobby's face. Bobby bolted from his seat.

"Stay put, Goren," the Captain said.

"I- I wanna go see the body," he explained, holding his hands out to his sides. He looked at Alex. "We-we know who did this."

"Detective. Have a seat. I'm not through here."

_Oh great, there's more_. Alex glanced sideways as Bobby grudgingly reclaimed his chair.

"Logan's on his way in. Eames, when he gets here, I want the two of you to get over to the scene.

Bobby smirked, in spite of his anger. "Well, that was an ambiguous order."

Ross glared at Bobby then calmly, but sternly replied, "Well let me make myself clearer. Logan and Eames will go to the scene. Eames, you make sure you go over that place with a fine-toothed comb and build our case –ironclad. Goren. You're off the case."

Bobby's posture stiffened. His eyebrows raised in disbelief. "Off the case? Why?" He again shot out of his chair and began pacing the room, trying to make eye contact with Alex –to get her to fight for him and plead his cause.

"Goren. You're too close to this. I read Hanratty's file. I know what happened…"

"No! You don't – you don't know anything. . ." Bobby's tirade began as the memories of his torture and captivity rose to the surface.

Alex recoiled at Bobby's shout.

"Detective!" Ross shouted with equal volume. "You've been walking a fine line for the past year. Just give me one more reason –one more, and I'll suspend you for insubordination."

The threat halted Bobby in his tracks. His eyes caught Alex's face, but he found no sympathy there. Only her silent plea that he get himself under control and not make things any worse.

Defeated, he returned to the chair and sat. "I disagree," he muttered. "I'm not too close. Tommy's killer deserves to be caught an-and brought to justice."

"Well, we finally agree on something," Ross retorted, "so you'll be glad to know we have someone in custody."

Bobby sat forward, interested.

"DeMarco reached out from prison and sent one of his henchmen to take care of Tommy. It's payback," Alex surmised.

Bobby nodded in agreement.

"Nice theory, but – no," Ross almost regretted having to say.

"So- so why am I here?" Bobby asked with impatience. "I'm off the case and I'm almost off the clock."

Bobby and Alex watched as Ross –who had caught a glimpse of Logan approaching—held up his hand, signaling Mike to not come in. The three of them watched as Mike did an 'about face', slouched into his chair and began tapping his pen against the desk in annoyance.

Captain Ross handed Alex a folded sheet of paper. "Eames, here's the address." He tossed his head in Logan's direction. "Fill Logan in on your way over."

Alex took the paper and stood, shooting a quick glance at Bobby.

"You're here, Detective, as a favor. The man in the holding cell has been asking for you since we brought him in."

Bobby stood quickly, unable to hide the interest and curiosity from his face. He passed Alex, reaching the door first –anxious to talk to their captive.

"Holding cell number 3."

Bobby froze at the sound of the Captain's voice, with his hand on the door handle.

"You've got ten minutes. And remember, the cameras and mics are on."

X X X

Alex and Bobby left Ross' office. Mike stood up as soon as he saw the door to Ross' office open.

"C'mon Logan. It's you and me. I'll fill ya in," Alex said abruptly.

Mike shot a look at the duo, curious and confused about the new arrangement.

"I'll meet you at the elevators. Just gimme a minute," Alex said to Mike, then turned to face Bobby.

"See you at my place, later?" Alex softly asked.

Bobby nodded, but there was no hiding his annoyance.

"I'm sorry about Tommy."

"Me too," Bobby whispered. "Th-th-thanks."

X X X

Alex made her way down the hall to the elevators. Bobby turned down the opposite corridor towards the holding cells.

With each step down the hall, he felt his pulse increasing –the anger welling up inside him as he prepared to face the man accused of Tommy's murder.

But nothing would've prepared him for this.

Bobby nodded at the officer standing guard at the entranceway. Confidently and readying himself for confrontation, he made his way to cell No. 3.

"Bobby!" the man exclaimed with relief at the sight of the big Detective.

Bobby froze with surprise. Surprise which was quickly replaced by disbelief. _What the fuck?_

"Lewis?"

END Chapt. 21


	22. Chapter 22

**Guilty Until Proven Innocent**

Bobby strode towards the cell, watching as Lewis approached from the other side –his face bore a combination of fear and confusion as he wrapped his fingers around the cold metal bars.

"Get me outta here, man!" he pleaded impatiently.

Bobby turned towards the guard, flailing his arm with impatience and nervous energy as he barked, "Reynolds, open the door!"

Reynolds hesitated for just a split second. It was apparent that Bobby and the prisoner knew each other and since Bobby outranked him, he had to obey.

Hearing the click as the electronic lock disengaged, Bobby grabbed a bar and swung the door open, stepping aside as Lewis rushed out.

"Man, am I glad to see you," he said with relief.

"You all right, man?" Bobby asked, gently grasping Lewis' shoulder.

Lewis nodded. "Did your Captain tell you? Somebody killed Tommy Hanratty."

Bobby, with his arm now around Lewis' shoulder, walked passed Reynolds out of the holding area towards the staff lounge. "The Captain thinks that that 'somebody' is you," Bobby quietly answered.

As they walked, he could feel Lewis' body trembling. "C'mon. Let's get something to drink and you can tell me what happened.

Two detectives approached them in the corridor, suspiciously eyeing Bobby and his prisoner. Their gazes lingered on the bloodstains on Lewis pants and, although they wondered where Bobby was heading (since the holding cells and interrogation rooms were in the opposite direction) they knew better than to ask their colleague. They'd seen the look on his face too often of late. Instead, as they passed, they simply nodded to acknowledge him, and said "Goren."

X X X

Simultaneously, Alex and Mike stepped from the elevator into the dim coldness of the garage. As they headed towards the black SUV, Mike made the mistake of walking towards the driver's side.

"I drive, Logan," Alex snapped.

"Oh, sure," Mike muttered as he changed direction and went to the passenger side.

Once behind the wheel, Alex opened the sheet of paper that the Captain had given her.

"So, you wanna tell me why I'm here and your partner's up there," Mike asked, as he motioned with his thumb.

"Oh no," Alex groaned.

"What is it?" Mike asked.

"The address we're heading to. It's Lewis' garage."

"Lewis? Bobby's friend Lewis?" Mike asked with concern as Alex handed over the paper so he could see for himself.

_No wonder the Captain didn't want to tell me before. Bobby must be livid_. Alex sat numb behind the wheel while the engine idled. She didn't want to imagine what must be going on up on the 11th floor and debated whether she should head back upstairs to make sure Bobby was all right.

Mike sat by stealing glimpses of Alex, knowing exactly what was going through her head.

"We'd better head out. You know Ross will have a fit if he sees us back upstairs again –and puttin' him in a worse mood will only make things worse for Bobby," he cautioned.

Alex acquiesced and shifted into 'drive'. Tires squealed against the slick concrete floor as they sped out of the garage. "You know there's no way in hell that Lewis did this, right?" she asked, quickly glancing to her right for Mike's agreement.

"Could've been self defense," Mike said, playing the devil's advocate.

Alex merely huffed in response as her hands gripped the wheel tighter; her foot hit the pedal harder.

X X X

Lewis sat at the small, café-style table waiting for Bobby to return with their coffee. He wanted nothing more than to go home, take a hot shower and try to forget that tonight had ever happened.

Bobby approached, holding a cardboard carry tray with their coffee and two donuts.

"It's them again, isn't it? The Masucci's? They're comin' after us again," Lewis said, his voice still quivering from the upset of the night's events, coupled with the memories of what had happened in the past.

Bobby's hand patted the air, "Hold on. Just start at the beginning and tell me what happened tonight," he said.

Lewis sipped his coffee, and began. "Tommy called me yesterday and said he wanted to stop by so I could check out this old El Camino that he bought –it, it needed some work."

Bobby nodded, "Go on."

"Around quarter to six, this guy comes in –a new customer—complaining about a noise his tranny was making in third gear –asked me to take it for a drive with him so I could hear it."

"A ploy to get you out of the garage," Bobby said, as the scenario of a set up began unfolding in his mind.

"He—he seemed legit. He looked like a regular guy –dressed nice and everything," Lewis explained.

"So, you left with the guy? Did he give you a name?" Bobby asked.

"Um, John. That was all he said," Lewis answered. "But, we didn't leave right away, 'cause I told him I was expecting a customer and couldn't leave."

"And what did he say?"

"He said he didn't mind, he'd wait, but then Marty said he'd stay and wait for Tommy while I took the El Camino for a spin."

"Mar-Marty. Who's Marty?"

"A-a new guy I hired about a month ago –does great body work," Lewis answered.

_Yeah, I can imagine what the bodies look like once Marty gets done with 'em_. "This Marty. You just hired him out of the blue? You had an ad in the paper?"

"No, no. I was thinking of hiring some help; the shop's real busy. And, one day he walked in off the street and said he just moved to the neighborhood and was looking for work."

"Do you have anything on file for him? A resume? Address and phone number?" Bobby asked.

"Yeah, sure. Back in my office."

Bobby watched as Lewis' hand still trembled as he took another drink of his coffee. He reached out and patted Lewis' upper arm. "Take it easy, Lewis. We'll get to the bottom of this –everything's all right."

X X X

Alex and Mike arrived at Lewis' garage. The street was still abuzz with police cars and officers –the garage cordoned off with yellow crime scene tape. A burly, plain clothed detective approached them as they walked towards the bay door.

"Jerry White," he announced his name, as he held out his hand to shake Mike's. "Once we got the stiff out, we roped it off. Nobody's been in since. You think it's the Masucci's? This ain't the first time this place has been involved in. . ."

Alex interrupted White before he could finish. "This place isn't involved. It's been victimized. Big difference," she snapped, then ducked under the tape and walked into the garage.

White caught himself under Mike's glare. "Sorry."

"It's all right," Mike answered. "We're um, we're friends of the owner."

"Ahh, is that why Major Case is here?" White asked.

Mike shook his head 'no.' "Nah, we're here 'cause it's the Masucci's." He gave White a wink and a sly grin, and then stepped past the tape to join Alex in the garage.

White followed and began filling them in on the events.

"Body was laying face down there," he pointed, carefully stepping over the dark, coagulated pool of blood. "When the first officers got here, the owner –um…" White paused, as he flipped the pages in his notepad. "Lewis Kyzinski –he was kneeling on the floor over the body. Bloody crow bar was next to him."

"Any neighbors report hearing or seeing anything?" Alex asked.

White gave Mike and Alex a look that meant, 'yeah, right." "Nobody's too anxious to get involved." White continued, "The crow bar was bagged for evidence and sent to the lab, along with Kyzinski's overalls. They were covered in blood."

X X X

Captain Ross walked to the holding cells, down to cell 3, and discovered it empty.

"Reynolds! Where are Goren and the suspect?"

"Goren took him, sir. Probably to Interrogation."

Ross stormed down the hall to the interrogation rooms, looking through the various two-way mirrors. _All empty_. His brow furrowed, his lips pursed in annoyance. He headed back down the hall in the opposite direction. He overheard Bobby's voice and followed the sound to the lounge.

"What are you doing in here?" he barked.

"I'm getting ---Lewis is telling me what happened," Bobby answered, holding his hand up in a 'halt' signal.

"Get him in a proper interrogation room. Now," Ross said, and then stood by, waiting for Bobby and Lewis to leave.

Reluctantly, Bobby stood and Lewis followed suit. "C'mon Lewis," he said softly. He felt Ross' glare upon them as they passed him and headed for interrogation.

Ross followed behind them and much to Bobby's annoyance, joined them in Room 1108-C and quickly took a seat.

Lewis sat, while Bobby paced, running his left hand through his hair to the back of his neck.

"What've you gotten so far?" Ross impatiently asked Bobby. "Aside from coffee and donuts," he added sarcastically.

Bobby let the comment slide. He didn't need to engage Ross –as much as he hated to admit it, he needed his Captain on his side.

"It was a set up, Captain. Tommy was put in place for the hit. A new employee of Lewis', Marty. . ." Bobby paused, not knowing Marty's last name.

"Paglione. Marty Paglione," Lewis advised.

"He's the one we're looking for," Bobby nodded assuredly.

"Yeah, well you know what I'd like to know?" Ross snapped.

Bobby and Lewis looked on, waiting for the Captain to answer his rhetorical question.

"I'd like to know what the hell the two of you were doing even consorting with Thomas Hanratty." Ross leaned back against his chair, with his head slightly tilted and a smirk on his lips as he waited for an explanation.

Lewis remained silent as he watched Bobby pace.

When Bobby reached the far end of the table, he spun without warning and kicked the heavy metal chair, sending it flying. It bounced against the wall and ricocheted back, spinning and finally coming to rest just inches from Ross' seat.

Ross glared at him, as his previous warning about insubordination came to mind. "Get out of here, Goren. I'll handle the rest of the questions."

END Chapt. 22.


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23**

**One PP – Interrogation Room 1108-C**

Bobby shot a look towards Lewis and his lifelong friend easily interpreted. He gave the slightest acknowledgment of understanding –one easily read by Bobby and undetectable by the Captain.

For added effect, Bobby strode towards the door, accidentally-on-purpose banging into the toppled chair, making another racket as metal scraped against tile with a spine-cringing squeal like that of nails on a chalkboard. He exited the room without looking back at Ross.

Once outside the room and out of Ross' eyeshot, Bobby paused in his tracks. He took a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh of frustration –at the Captain and at himself. His left hand nervously ran through his curls as he headed to the observation room. He left the light switch off and stood in the darkness as he watched Lewis and the Captain inside the interrogation room.

X X X

"So, why don't you start at the beginning and tell me how Tommy Hanratty ended up dead tonight in your garage," Ross said.

Lewis sat still in his chair. He looked at the Captain defiantly and remained silent.

It was too early in the game for Ross to let his frustration show. "You know, the lab results will be back later tonight. I already know that your overalls were covered in blood, and you were found next to the victim's body –along with a bloody crowbar that was used to bash his brains in. I'm sure the lab will find your fingerprints all over the weapon. You can see where I'm going with this."

"Of course my fingerprints are on he damn crowbar, Sherlock. I've owned it for twenty years."

Behind the mirrored glass Bobby chuckled because he couldn't help himself, but he really wanted Lewis to remain quiet.

Ross wasn't amused. "A jury might think differently, when they learn of your history with Mr. Hanratty. What he and his cohort did to you and your friend. A jury might be persuaded to believe that you wanted to give Mr. Hanratty a little payback."

Although the comment made Bobby's blood pressure go through the roof, he stood and silently observed, willing Lewis not to be bated by the Captain's accusation.

As if receiving Bobby's telepathy, Lewis remained still in his seat, staring back across the table at the Captain.

"Well, I can see we're in for a long night," Ross smirked.

**X X X**

** Lewis' Auto Body – Long Island City**

Alex stood nearby the chalked outline of the body, lost in thought. She was both sickened and mesmerized by the scene as memories of that night long ago came rushing back. The spot where Tommy's body had been was the exact spot where Bobby had been attacked –where they had first kicked him, causing his knees to buckle; where they'd burned him with the cigarette and then knocked him unconscious with the breaker bar. She remembered how the blood flowed and pooled on the cold cement, forming a crimson halo around his head. She felt herself shudder as Mike's voice startled her back to the present. _I wonder if there's any significance to this, or if it's just a coincidence. I'll have to remember to mention it to Bobby_.

"Well, no surprise…the tape is gone from the security camera," Mike said. "Cash is gone from the register."

Alex merely nodded and made some notes. She walked to Lewis' office as imagery popped back into her head of how scared he looked that first night when he was "visited" by the Masucci's—his face bruised and bloodied. She wondered how things were going back at the squad room.

Mike was over her shoulder, once again. "What, you lookin' for something else?"

Alex shook her head slightly 'no.' "Just looking." Her eyes perused the small office, finding herself pleasantly surprised at how neat and organized Lewis had kept it since she had cleaned it for him way back when. He hadn't even bothered replacing the tacky pin-up posters of the tanned, big-chested-bleached-blondes draped over the hoods of cherry muscle cars. She smiled.

Then she noticed something and her spine stiffened.

"What, you see something?" Mike asked, surprising himself at being so in tune to her body language.

"There's a picture missing," Alex replied. "From the cabinet behind Lewis' desk. He had a picture of Bobby and him and Lewis' mother up there."

"Doesn't necessarily mean anything," Mike said. "He could've taken it down or moved it somewhere."

Alex nodded, jotted another note and grabbed her cell phone from its clip.

"I guess we're done here," Mike said, as he took one last sweeping look around the bays. "Let's get back and see how Bobby's doing."

Alex held up her index finger, signaling Mike to wait a second. Mike looked on, curiously.

"Hi, Mrs. Kyzinski, it's Alex," she said, relieved to hear Lewis' mom on the other end of the line.

"Yes, Bobby and I are okay. Actually, I'm calling just to make sure you're all right. Is it okay if I take a ride over? I'm pretty close by already. Okay, I'll be there in ten minutes. Um, no Bobby's not with me," she answered hesitantly. "We'll talk when I get there."

Mike watched as Alex flipped the phone closed. "You thought they were gonna pinch his old lady," he stated.

Alex nodded. "It creeped me out seeing that picture missing. I just wanted to be sure," she explained as they made their way back to the SUV.

"You're right. You can never be sure what the Masucci's are up to –except that _whatever_ it is, it's no good."

**X X X**

**Back at One PP**

Captain Ross was growing frustrated and impatient. Bobby could tell from his voice; Lewis could tell from his clenched jaw, the way his eyes were bulging (even more) and the vein in his neck that throbbed against his too-tight collar with every pulse.

"I can just throw you back in holding for the rest of the night, if you're not going to cooperate," he threatened. "We can get a fresh start in the morning."

For what was at least the tenth time, Lewis merely answered, "I want Bobby back in here."

Ross conceded. "I can see how the two of you get along," he said, pushing his chair back from the table and standing. "Your defiance of authority figures, stubbornness . . .."

Lewis smiled as he watched the Captain pick up and right the chair that his friend had earlier toppled.

"You cooled off yet, Detective?" Ross questioned over his shoulder, fully aware that Bobby had been watching the entire unsuccessful "interrogation" through the one-way glass.

Bobby gave a satisfied chuckle as he rounded the corner from observation back to the interrogation room. He almost bumped into a lab technician who was on his way to the room to deliver a report to Captain Ross.

"That's –on the Hanratty murder? I'll take that," Bobby said as he slipped the folder from the tech's hand before any protest could be made.

Bobby opened the folder and began reading as he entered the room.

"Care to share, Detective?" Ross asked sarcastically.

"The results on Tommy," Bobby mumbled, still engrossed in reading and absorbing the contents of the paperwork. "The blood splatter on Lewis' coveralls isn't consistent with the splatter pattern that would've resulted from the blows to Tommy's head. And, prints, under and over the blood on the crowbar –are from Michael Puglisi, a/k/a Martin Paniteri, a/k/a Martin Paglione," Bobby smirked in satisfaction. He closed the folder and laid it on the table.

"I told ya' it wasn't me," Lewis exclaimed. "Can I go home now?"

Ignoring Lewis' question, Ross repeated, "Michael Puglisi. A henchman. FBI's been watching the Puglisi's in Philly for over a year…," his voice trailed off.

Bobby completed the Captain's thought. "Since Puglisi's nephew turned up dead at the dump's transfer station in Newark. They said it was a message from Carmine DeMarco to back off their territory."

Ross nodded, remembering the story.

"You're um, you're free to go, Mr. Kyzinski," Ross finally answered.

Bobby held up his hand and patted at the air, signaling Lewis to sit back down. "But you're gonna assign a unit to watch his garage, and his house, right?"

Ross paused.

"Captain. The Masucci's aren't going to be satisfied just 'cause Tommy's dead. Their plan was to frame Lewis for it. When they realize Lewis is free. . .." he didn't have to finish his thought.

"I'll put marked units in front of both places," Ross agreed.

Bobby nodded his agreement/thanks, while Lewis' stomach sank. He knew that this was far from over.

**X X X**

Alex and Mike casually strolled up the walkway to the porch of the Kyzinski residence. The neighborhood was quiet at this time of night, with only an occasional car or dog walker passing the house. She and Bobby were frequent visitors to Lewis and his mom since the events of that summer a couple of years ago.

Realizing how tired and hungry she was, Alex welcomed the thought of the freshly brewed hot pot of coffee and plate of homemade chocolate chip cookies that she knew Mrs. Kyzinski would have waiting. No visitors _ever_ went unfed.

Lost in thought, Alex was startled when Mike's hand abruptly grabbed her arm, as she was about to ring the doorbell.

Mike's eyes met hers-- silently communicated --and they drew their weapons. Alex's eyes followed his down to the very unwelcoming sight of blood on the doorknob.

END Chapt. 23


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter 24**

**Simultaneously, back at One PP**

"My mom must be wondering where I am," Lewis said to Bobby, as Ross turned and left the room. "I was supposed go over for dinner."

Bobby grabbed his cell phone from his pocket and tossed it to his friend. "You better give her a call. Knowing her, she's keeping it warm in the over for you," Bobby teased, although his comment rang true.

Lewis flipped the phone open and began dialing.

Meanwhile, at the Kyzinski House 

Lewis' mother sat at one of the kitchen chairs, hands and feet bound. Puglisi was just about to place duct tape over her mouth when the phone rang.

The shrill ring startled him –placing him more on edge. His eyes quickly darted at the front and back doors as his paranoia grew. He debated whether or not to have her answer, then finally said, "You get rid of whoever it is –quick. And no funny stuff."

He lifted the receiver from the wall phone and placed it by Mrs. Kyzinski's ear.

"Hello," she answered, trying to sound as normal as possible.

…**.While Simultaneously on the front porch. . .**

"You hear that?" Mike whispered.

"Mmmm, could be Bobby or Lewis calling."

Mike was taking a risk, peering through a small pane of glass in the front door.

"See anything?" Alex asked.

"No people, but the phone cord is stretched across the kitchen. He has her in the kitchen."

"Holding her at knifepoint maybe?" Alex took a guess.

"That phone call might be good distraction. He'll be busy keeping an eye on her –monitoring what she's saying," Mike surmised.

Back Inside the Kitchen 

"I'm fine. Just a little tired I guess," her voice nervously shook.

"No, honey. I didn't bother keeping it warm. I thought when you didn't show up that you'd forgotten."

Puglisi glared at her, holding the butcher knife closer to her throat, silently urging and warning her to cut the call short.

"I'm sorry, honey. I have to go. I just heard the washer go off," she lied.

As Puglisi started moving the phone away from her ear, she quickly said, "I love you." At the very least, she wanted her son to have the memory of her final words to him.

Back at One PP 

Lewis bolted out of his chair as he flipped the phone closed. "They've got her! They've got my mom!" he shouted in a panic.

"Stay calm, Lewis. What did she say?"

"Sh-she said that she didn't keep my dinner warm. She thought I forgot." Lewis said as he nervously shifted from foot to foot. "You know that's not like her…you said it yourself."

"I know, I know," Bobby assured.

"She said she had to go 'cause the washer went off," Lewis explained. "Her washer's broken, Bobby. The repairman isn't coming until next Wednesday."

Bobby's frown grew with the realization that Lewis' mom was, in fact, relaying hints that everything definitely was not all right.

"What's the commotion in here now?" Ross asked, reappearing in the doorway.

"We think Puglisi has Lewis' mom," Bobby replied.

Ross yelled over his shoulder, "I want two units to. . ."

"282 Elm, Long Island City," Bobby shouted out to the detectives in the bullpen.

Ross repeated the address with a bark. "Now!"

Lewis paced nervously, mumbling, "My mom…not my mom."

Bobby put his arm around his friend and urged him to sit. "They'll be there soon. She'll be all right," he tried to reassure Lewis and himself.

**Simultaneously back at the house. . .**

"Damn it!" Mike exclaimed as he watched the man cross the kitchen doorway to hang up the phone.

Mike inched back from the door and whispered to Alex. "The phone call's over. We lost that diversion."

"We have to get in there, Mike, before he has a chance to do anything," Alex quickly whispered back.

Mike nodded in agreement. "You stay here. Gimme thirty seconds to get around to the back door, then ring the doorbell."

Alex understood his plan. While the doorbell would distract Puglisi, Mike would kick in the back door, placing him in the kitchen with Mrs. Kyzinski –enabling him to protect her up close.

"Get as far into the kitchen as you can. If he starts coming towards the front door…well, just stay outta my line of fire," Alex warned.

Mike nodded, heeding her warning. He knew for a fact that in the Goren/Eames partnership, Alex was the one with the quick trigger.

**X X X**

Puglisi ripped a strip of the duct tape from the roll and slapped it, roughly, against Mrs. Kyzinski's mouth.

She squirmed in protest against her restraints; her pleas muffled and incoherent against the tape.

Her abductor and would-be executioner stood in front of her, bending forward so they were face to face. As he saw the panic and desperation in her eyes, his own level of excitement grew. He loved the "rush" of the kill.

He held the photo stolen from Lewis' office in front of her face. The stench of his sweat and cigarette-fouled breath invaded her nose. "Say good-bye," he taunted her in a singsong voice and laughed when he saw tears fill her eyes.

"Don't worry…they'll be meeting up in hell with you soon enough," he laughed sadistically.

_The chime of the doorbell rang_

Panic overcame Puglisi's face. He bolted upright, his eyes darting back and forth, undecided if he should answer the door and abduct and kill whoever it might be, or make his getaway out the back door, leaving the job unfinished.

"No, I've gotta finish the job," he quickly decided. "The boss will kill me if this doesn't get done."

He headed down the hallway to the front door, hiding the butcher knife behind his back.

Mike peered through the window, waiting until Puglisi unlocked the front door.

The instant he saw him unlock the door to answer it, he kicked the kitchen door open. It was an ear-shattering bang, sending splinters of wood and pieces of broken glass flying in every direction.

Puglisi turned to the kitchen, startled and panicked. Then he heard the front door open and Alex's command: "Police! Freeze!"

Puglisi shot a glimpse over his right shoulder. "Hmpf, a woman cop," he muttered to himself, then charged towards the kitchen.

Mike had removed the duct tape from Mrs. Kyzinski's mouth, but didn't have time to start working on her hand and foot bindings. He stood in front of her, blocking and protecting her from Puglisi.

"You're not gonna stop me! I'll stick it through you and her!" he screamed. His eyes were glazed with anger and fear; his face twisted in a sinister sneer.

Alex was at the kitchen doorway in a split second. "Freeze!" she ordered again. "Drop it!"

Puglisi ignored her and charged across the kitchen table towards Mike, the giant knife raised about his head, ready to strike.

**Simultaneously, at One PP**

"Didn't the cops get there yet?" Louis asked anxiously. Bobby had never seen his friend so worried and scared.

"Units are almost there; four blocks away at last check," Ross answered.

"Captain! Reports of shots fired!" Detective Suarez shouted from the bullpen.

Lewis, Bobby and Ross exchanged worried, grim glances. Lewis' eyes were glassy with tears.

_C'mon, c'mon…please God_, Bobby silently prayed_. "I lost one mother this year…I can't lose my other."_

End. Chapt. 24 


End file.
